Breaking Storm
by tearsofher
Summary: HGDM-'Turn to me with frozen lips.Your hands are icy cold. Your eyes burn bright against the frost-bit sky. You never seemed more lovely than you do tonight.'
1. Blame

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own characters, just the plot.  
  
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Draco and Hermione are most likely to be out of character in this story, but I'm trying my best.. He may be a bit more.. well, nice? I don't know. It'd be great if you guys would review and let me know what you think of it so far, though. Thanks.  
  
This story is.. Well, I don't think it says how he fell in love with her, but the feelings are already there. He just doesn't know it yet.  
  
Congrats to my amazing cousin Joanne, for getting into SDSU, This one is for you.  
  
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Chapter One: Blame  
  
Draco Malfoy sat across the Slytherin table, watching the Gryffindor table. But he was watching a particular person. A person he knew he shouldn't be watching and observing, but couldn't help but to, no matter how much force he put into putting his mind and gaze elsewhere. Maybe, for a moment, he would think of something else, look at something else. But they always managed to wander back to the Gryffindor table.. Back to the girl with the dark brown hair, and haunting brown eyes. He blamed himself, for going to the library that day. He blamed himself for not going the day before, or hours later. He blamed himself for seeing her there.. On the library floor. Crying. He blamed himself for watching her, and saying nothing as she looked up at him.  
  
He blamed himself for letting her catch him in her trapping gaze.  
  
He blamed himself for not smirking, for not shooting his usual cold remark to the Gryffindor girl. He blamed himself for feeling.. Drawn to her. He blamed himself for not turning to walk away, after finding his throat dry and mute. She had just stood up and wiped her eyes hastily, not uttering a word to him, not making him swear on his blood not to tell anyone. She hadn't done anything like that. She had just looked at him with her glossy, dark, sad eyes, and brushed past him and out the library. And he remembered standing there, frozen, almost stunned.  
  
It was not only the fact that he had never ever found anyone crying in the library before, or that he never thought anyone would go to the library to cry.. But the fact that it had been Hermione Granger who had been crying, sprawled out on the library floor. It had been Hermione Granger with the tear-streaked face; it had been Hermione Granger with the sad, dim eyes, who pleaded at him almost like he had a kind heart. Like he wasn't Draco Malfoy, the cruel Slytherin who had been tormenting her and her two little prat-faced friends with no mercy.  
  
He had been caught off guard, thrown off balance. He had thought she would at least pull out her wand and force him to swear he wouldn't tell a soul about what she had been doing. But no, instead she was silent, got up and walked past him, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just caught her and her spilled tears in the back shelf of the library. It bothered him, it did. But not as much as the way she had looked at him.  
  
Her brown gaze had been on his mind ever since that day. How sad and solemn, how they were dark but pleaded at him mentally. He had never.. Never in his life. He had never seen someone look at him like that before. There was no trace of disgust, no trace of anger or hate, or even the slightest bit of annoyance. There had been none of those when she had looked at him.  
  
And it confused him. And he couldn't blame himself for that. No, he  
couldn't. The blame was on her, for this one. It was her fault she  
looked at him like that, her fault he couldn't get her off his mind.  
It was her fault she had chosen the bloody library to cry in, instead  
of her dormitory. But expect Hermione Granger to do almost everything  
in the library.  
  
But of course, while he had expected to find her in the library, for it was a well-known fact she was constantly there, he hadn't expected to find her crying. It made him almost curious as to why she had been crying there.. Instead of somewhere else. Maybe she knew that no body barely went in there on weekends, and chose it as a place to hide. But who to hide from? Draco furrowed his eyebrows.  
  
There wasn't anyone he could think of, that she'd want to hide form. But who could make her cry? Who was close enough to her that they'd hurt her brutally with their words? Suddenly, it hit him.  
  
Potter and Weasley.  
  
But even with that guess, there were still obvious vast holes. What could they say to make her cry? Why hadn't they gone after her almost immediately, for it was obvious she had been there quite a while. What sort of insensitive remark could have they aimed at her to make her go to the library, and cry?  
  
Suddenly, he felt something snap inside of him. Sort of a bitter, tight, cold bind around him. Around his heart.  
  
He scowled at himself for wondering. His gaze turned cold, as he glared at her. She was talking, smiling at the raven-haired boy beside her. There was no sign of her being unhappy in any way, any grudges being held against her friends. He felt anger boil up inside, as he quickly turned away, his fists clenching underneath the table.  
  
He didn't know why she was occupying so much of his thoughts, his mind, his time. He didn't know why her sad brown eyes had managed to haunt him every single night, kept him awake and restless, thinking about her. He didn't know why or how he could possibly care if she was in the library crying, or who had managed to make her. He didn't know why he kept watching her, even faintly urging her to look his way.  
  
She never did.  
  
It angered him, she angered him. That mudblood wasn't even worthy to think of, not to him. She was lowly, a Muggleborn, friends with the legendary bloody Harry Potter. She didn't deserve to be thought of. She didn't deserve any of this. Any of his questions, any of his thoughts.. She didn't deserve it. Any of it. He hated her. He hated her.  
  
Because she looked at him that way. Like he wasn't cold hearted and cruel, like she knew there was something else in there that nobody else could possibly see. He hated her because she acted as if nothing could possibly go bloody wrong, laughing and smiling, when it was only a week ago he saw her completely destroyed. He hated her because she was a mudblood, and she didn't deserve to be here. He hated her because she appeared to him constantly, unconscious or awake. He hated her. He hated her.  
  
He hated her because he was supposed to.  
  
He hated her because she kept him awake at night. He hated her because she made him feel this way. Because he had never felt this before. And he despised it. He wanted it to go away, but it was there, every single bloody day. Thriving and roaring inside of him like a restless fire, getting more intense and hot with every single second the world let pass. He hated her because he watched her, through every class, through their meals.  
  
He hated her because she never looked up. He hated her because she never looked at him. Only at her stupid half-wit friends, and he hated her more for that.  
  
He gave one last look at the Gryffundor table, the pretty brown haired girl laughing and smiling, her brown eyes twinkling like he had never seen before. He hated it. Harry Potter leaned over and put his hand over hers, and he felt something rise and spread throughout him, something that felt infectious and bitter, intense. He felt his chest tighten with anger, finally looking away. He stood up and strode out of the great Hall, obviously not feeling like watching Harry Potter try to court his best friend. He didn't know why, but it absolutely infuriated him.  
  
He walked down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the walls. It was quiet, the noisy chatter from the Great Hall slowly and faintly fading. His eyes were hard, angry. His hands felt cold and icy, as they were still clenched. He made his way to his Prefect room, anger bubbling inside him like he never felt before.  
  
He hated her.  
  
He hated Harry Potter.  
  
He hated the fact that he was the only one who saw that Harry Potter didn't deserve her.  
  
He hated the fact that nobody did. Not even him. For even with his pureblood and wealthy family, she was still so out of his reach.  
  
He hated the fact that he knew no matter what he did, she would always and forever be out of his reach.  
  
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Hermione felt his gaze on her again. She had to fight the urge to look up, to meet his eyes, but it was getting harder and harder each day. It puzzled her, confused her, but she knew all too well not to let her curiosity take over. Not when it was to Draco Malfoy.  
  
It was ever since that day, that he had found her in the library. She had been surprised that he just looked at her, not a bit of coldness in his eyes. And he hadn't said anything, anything at all. He hadn't made fun of her, or tormented her about why or just the fact that she was crying. Maybe that was the reason he had been on her mind constantly over the past few days.  
  
Her thoughts weren't hate-filled, or angry, and sometimes she was annoyed at that. She would've thought her mind had forgotten just who Draco Malfoy was, and that he had been cruel and mean to them ever since they had set a foot in Hogwarts. Also the fact that he hated Muggleborns, which, she knew, he hated her the most. He hated her. It slightly disturbed her, for she hadn't done anything to him. Well, that he didn't deserve, of course. But of course, she would try to push her thoughts about him away, only to see his silver gray eyes, which was forever burned in her mind.  
  
Another thing that annoyed her, was that feeling she got every time she saw them, or felt his gaze on her. It was a deep, warm but at the same time frosty feeling that filled her, that rushed through her veins. First she would get lost in the feeling, and lose sight of everything around her, or let her mind and thoughts go astray. She could almost feel herself lost in a hazy, sweet fog that embraced her. There were countless amounts of times where she had been so close to losing herself enough to look up. But of course, she never did. She would gain her control slowly, as she felt her gaze wander up, and abruptly turn it towards her plate. Then she would close her eyes, and try to compose herself, telling herself that this was Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.  
  
The name that was supposed to trigger anger and hate, annoyance and despise.  
  
But it never came. It never made her angry. He never made her angry. Instead, something else had managed to dominate.. But the thing was, she had no clue as to what it could possibly be.  
  
Or deep inside, she could possibly be scared to understand it, to suddenly know what she was really feeling for the silver-blonde haired Slytherin.  
  
She shook that thought away, as she suddenly felt something warm on her hand. She looked up, and saw that Harry was smiling at her. She laughed at what he said, and didn't take away her hand from underneath his, although people might see and get the wrong assumption. The last time that possibility had been assumed, she had been on gossip newspapers here in the Wizarding world, and received large amounts of hate mail, threatening her. Sure, she had been offended and angry, for going for more than a mutual friendship with Harry was never on her mind, and never had been. She also remembered that it had also angered Harry, who was cursing under his breath as he had managed to rip out a letter from her hands.  
  
She remembered that that had been the one that said she was going to hunt her down and poison her.  
  
Suddenly, she felt something inside her that made her look up, towards the Slytherin table. She watched him as he got up, and walked from his table. She could've sworn that she could see that his eyes were cold, dark and angry, but he had gone out of the Great Hall by the time she had realized it. Her gaze had lingered on the open doors of the Great Hall, and looked down. Something inside was tugging at the edge of her heart, making her feel sort of guilty, although she had no clue as to why. Something was telling her to go after him, but it was faint and did little to try and convince her to.  
  
And why would she go after him, anyway? Why would she want to?  
  
The answers to those questions she could not find.  
  
Or maybe it was a matter of not wanting to find them. 


	2. Falling Tears

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: don't own the characters, just the plot.  
  
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Thanks to all my reviewers! And, btw, this chap is a few days after the last one.. Enjoy! And don't forget to review!  
  
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Chapter Three: Falling Tears  
  
She had been crying again. He could see that the rims of her eyes were red, and her eyes were glazed and glossy, as she hastily kept wiping away her tears on her sleeve. But she tried to do it in a way no one would notice, and no one had, not yet.  
  
Except him.  
  
He found it almost amusing that no one at her blasted table had noticed it yet, yet he wasn't all that surprised. He had always thought Gryffindors were rather daft when it came to noticing what was right in front of them. In other words, they were blind little pricks who always got all the glory. He raised his glass to his lips, as he took a sip of his pumpkin juice, his eyes never straying from the pretty girl. He noticed she avoided looking up, or anywhere. She just looked down on her half empty plate, sniffling sometimes as she wiped her eyes quickly but slowly enough that no one would take notice. He put his glass back down, his pale silver eyes unwavering.  
  
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Hermione's chest felt as if it was about to burst, as she held in her tears. She was rather grateful no one had noticed her yet, and was hoping she could keep it up. She closed her eyes a few times, trying to compose herself and tell herself that it was no use to be like this. She was never going to come back. She was gone.  
  
But even thinking that thought almost brought her to tears again. Her bittersweet tears were fighting to let out, to spill down her cheeks and all she wanted to do was hold herself and cry. It wouldn't bring her back. Her mother. It wouldn't bring her back. But it did nothing to comfort her. It had been this morning, while she was looking for one of her textbooks, when she had come across on of her mother's letters. She had reread it again, and she could not fight the tears that poured out of her. Her soul wretched painfully inside, as she held it in her hands, her tears like raindrops blotting the neat ink words. It had been the letter she had sent her before the end of the year. She told her that she was proud of her, and that she couldn't wait until she got back.  
  
Hermione's heart broke and she gasped in vast amounts of air as she held the letter close to her, wrinkling it and dampening it with her trembling hands and falling tears.  
  
She knew she should have been over it by now.. But she just wasn't. She just wasn't. It had been just months, and still the pain was still unbearable. It felt like someone was gripping her throat with its deathly cold hands, strangling her, suffocating the air out of her lungs. Her soul was being ripped apart, torn open by hot knives of the painful past and memories. She felt as if her chest was going to explode, her heart intensely warm and pounding excruciatingly. Her face was wet and sticky with her tears, as they showed no sign of stopping or even weakening, as she crumpled down on her knees, sobbing. There was silence, her sobs shattering the once peaceful atmosphere. It echoed in her ears, as every single thing splintered and broke inside of her. She was alone just in the room, but yet she felt she was going to be alone for the rest of her life. The rest of the girls had already gone up to breakfast, so there was no one to try and comfort her.  
  
She quickly put the letter back in the drawer, her hands shaking, as she went into the bathroom to try and clean herself up. The icy, cold water had shocked her tear-stained face, as it felt like it was piercing through her nerves. She had turned off the faucet and looked at herself in the mirror.  
  
She was solemn, pale. Big, pained, dark brown eyes stared at her,. Her wavy, long hair went down her shoulders, her pink lips trembling. She inhaled a sharp breath, as she walked out of the bathroom and out of the dormitory. She held herself tightly, as she had walked down the empty corridor, the silence making her fears and hurt grow. Whispers and memories that stabbed her brutally and without mercy had all rushed back again, as she tried swallowing down the stone in her throat. Her feet felt wobbly, and her head felt light but at the same time too heavy to carry on her shoulders. She wished she could make it all go away, make it all vanish as if it had never been there. But she couldn't. They wouldn't let her.  
  
And that hurt much worse.  
  
She had told Harry and Ron about her mother's death, as they were both stunned to hear her news. She remembered something cloud over Harry's usually bright emerald eyes, as he held her close and she began to sob onto his chest. His strong, lean arms had tightened around her as he begun to tell her everything was going to be okay, and she wanted to scream at him because she knew it wasn't. She remembered wanting to hit him, wanting to yell and tell him that he knew too damn well that everything wasn't going to be okay. But instead she just let him hold her, as she let her tears fall freely and her heart struggling underneath that overbearing weight once again.  
  
Ron had also embraced her, telling her that he was deeply sorry. But by that time she felt numb, so numb she couldn't feel her legs, or the sharp, jagged pieces of her broken heart that had fallen to the pit of her stomach. She couldn't feel a thing. She felt heavy, but it was a heavy load of emptiness. She remembered not ever feeling that way before.  
  
She felt her tears start to pour out again, as she tried to blink them back. But one fell down onto the palm of her hands, and she knew that the barrier she had tried to put up had broken. She quickly stood up, wiping the tears from her eyes, as she started to walk out of the Great Hall. She could hear Harry's shouts and calls behind her, but she paid no mind to them as she broke into a run and ran out.  
  
The tears came out harder and heavier as she ran down the corridor, her footsteps and sobs echoing. Her eyes stung, as her heart pounded inside her chest, her palms hot and sweaty. She ran to the library, without giving it a single thought.  
  
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Draco watched her as a single tear slid down her cheek, and she started to blink furiously. He felt something inside him call out, but it was muffled and faint. Suddenly his stomach felt hollow, cold and icy and painfully empty. He had never felt this before, and he knew almost instantly that it was because of her. She was making him feel this. And although the thought angered him slightly, he could not tear his eyes away from her. Now she was wiping them away quicker, and he could feel his hands clench underneath the table. His nerves buzzed and hummed, his chest feeling warm but bitter with frost. He watched her as she suddenly stood, and he hadn't realized until a moment later that he was shaking.  
  
She turned and started walking towards the Great Hall's doors, and he could see Harry Potter call out to her, and her table watching her, confused. He watched the raven-haired boy, as his gaze lingered on the doors, his eyebrows furrowed in worry and confusion. His red haired friend beside him tugged at his sleeve and he turned. He said something to him that Draco could not make out, but Harry gave one last look at the doors, before nodding. Draco waited until everyone had gone back to their business, and without thinking, got up and strode out of the Great Hall.  
  
His robe flowed behind him, as he walked fast down the corridor. His heart was pounding, his hands still clenched into fists, as his mind was only on Hermione.. And getting to the library. He didn't have a clue as to why or how he knew she would be in the library, but something in his gut that she would always be there if he needed to find her.. He shook that thought away as he neared the library doors, which were closed, but he could tell that someone had just come in. It hadn't been closed all the way.  
  
He snuck inside, the door creaking softly as he closed it. He stepped inside, as he heard muffled sobs. He felt his heart hammer in his chest as he walked towards the last shelf at the back of the library. His footsteps were quiet and faint, as he walked down the shelves, until he could spy a brown haired girl through the gaps of the books on the shelves behind her. He stopped abruptly, and swallowed hard, well aware that his heart was urging him to go on, while his brain was sending him mixed messages. His hands were sweating, as he watched her through the bookshelf. He walked into the aisle behind her, as he pressed against the bookshelf gently, his hand on the one of the book's sides. He watched, as he felt his sharp gray eyes soften at the sight of her.  
  
Her face was covered with her hands, but he could see her tears around the edges of her palm and wrists. He saw that her body trembled, as she took in big breaths. He could feel his heart, deep down inside, buckle under the feelings that the sight of her so destroyed and hurt gave him. It made him feel as if his throat had closed up, his chest compacted tightly together and chained down to the floor, whilst his body was standing straight up. His heart felt as if it were being bent and twisted painfully, all his thoughts scattered and disoriented. Just then he felt anger crackle through him again, and he grasped the book's end tightly. He felt his forearm's muscle tighten, as he suddenly felt the urge to take the book and thrust it against the wall. He closed his eyes firmly, as his fingers fastened around the book tighter, trying to swallow but found it was much too hard. He leaned his forehead against the shelf, trying to calm his heart and thoughts. Her sobs echoed around him, ringing in his ears and making it so unbearable. His fist clenched rigidly, until he could feel his nails digging into his skin. Suddenly, before he knew it, he had swung his hand back and the book fell to the floor, landing with a firm bang on the floor. His breathing was hard, as his eyes remained closed. Hermione's sobs stopped, as she looked up. Her eyes darted to the shelf in front of her, to the main desk.  
  
"Who's there?" She asked, her voice faint and shaky. Draco sighed, as he opened his eyes slowly. He bent down to pick up the book, before he walked over to her aisle.  
  
"Relax, Granger. It's only me," he said to her, his voice expressionless. She stared at him with her pained, brown eyes. He watched her, holding the fallen book in his hand. She started trying to wipe away her tears, as she dug her face in her hands once again. Draco heard her ragged breaths, as her body shook and trembled with every deep breath she took. He felt a cold, slight rip at the edge of his heart. He dug in his robe pocket and took out a handkerchief. He held it out to her, waiting. She didn't budge.  
  
Hermione heard a soft rustle as he kneeled down to level with her. She felt something tug on her shoulder. She looked up, and his silver eyes bore into her. She felt flutters in her stomach, as she realized how close he was. Then she noticed he was holding out a snow-white handkerchief, with the letters 'DM' embroided on it. She stared at him, not exactly knowing if she should take it or not.  
  
"Here," he said to her, his voice quiet. She took it from him, gently, as she wiped her eyes. She couldn't believe how soft it felt on her skin. It felt almost like silk, but more softer and velvety. She sniffled, as she noticed how hard her heart seemed to beating.  
  
Draco watched her, as she wiped the tears from her cheeks and eyes. He felt something strange inside him, flickering and quivering. Something strong and intense.. Something warm and glowing that seemed to spread through him from the tips of his hair to his toes.  
  
"Care to share what happened?" He asked her, his voice surprisingly soft. She was amazed at how his voice seemed so gentle, when it wasn't filled with scorn and sarcasm. She looked at him, as she searched his deep gray eyes. There wasn't any sign of mischief, or amusement. They were serious, but she could not read them. His dim silver eyes also searched her deep brown eyes, and he felt something rising inside him.. It seemed to reach his throat, as suddenly he felt as if he could no longer speak. She turned away and looked at the book filled shelf in front of her, her brown eyes sad.  
  
"I.. I just miss her, that's all," she said softly. "I just.. I don't think I can ever get over it."  
  
"It takes time, Granger," he said to her, no hint of derision or sarcasm in his voice. She was silent for a few moments, before answering in a whisper.  
  
"I guess it does." He tried to search her expression, as she stared frozen- like on the bookshelf. Her face seemed deathly pale, her eyes still red and puffy, her wavy brown hair spread on her shoulders.  
  
He couldn't help but think how she really didn't look like the other girls he had ever seen. She wasn't ordinary, or harsh and cruel in any way. She was beautiful, in a sense. Her face was soft and gentle looking, as it looked like she had been made to be gentle and kind. Her brown eyes could manage to melt everything inside of him without even trying, even making him lose his breath at times. Suddenly her soft voice rang in his ears.  
  
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" She asked, barely audible. But he had heard it, as it chimed loudly in his ears. He just stared at her, his gaze unwavering. Hermione was afraid to turn his way.  
  
She knew if she did he would be able to see everything. To see what she was really feeling. For him. And she didn't need that, didn't want it. Not right now. Not when her mind and conscience was telling her to just push him away and walk out. It just wasn't right. He had been nice to her, but she didn't think he should know what he was making her feel.  
  
Draco's eyes traveled down to her creamy, smooth hands. Her fingers were curled gently around his handkerchief, as he looked back up at her. His deep silver eyes were dark and cloudy, as he stood up and brushed himself off. Hermione lowered her eyes in disappointment.  
  
"We'd better get going," he said to her. "We're going to be late for class."  
  
She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to refocus and order her thoughts. She tried to ignore the flurry of flutters in her stomach, and the heavy beats of her heart as she stood up. She met his gaze, as he watched her. She held out his handkerchief to him, the soft fabric caressing her fingertips.  
  
"Keep it," he said to her, before turning to walk out the library. Hermione stared at the handkerchief she held between her fingers, and the letters on it in dark emerald letters. DM.  
  
She sighed, as she looked after him, already about to reach the doors. She gently put it in the pocket of her robe, and followed after him. 


	3. Unnecessary Words

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: don't own characters, just the plot.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
This story may be a bit more angst and sad than my other stories.. But it may evolve into something else along the way. But of course it is still romance. I wouldn't be writing this if it wasn't.  
  
Thank you to LeslieGlady, natyslacks, ekleenex, Sweet Bloom, Juliet's rose, Anyam, dracolegolaslvr87, and all my reviewers that have been so faithful. Thank you very much. It makes me so happy to read what you have to say, and to know that you took the time to let me know what you thought.  
  
Again, I appreciate it very very much. I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
  
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Chapter Four: Unnecessary Words  
  
Hermione entered Potions, shortly after Draco. She looked down at her feet as she walked, avoiding everyone's eyes for she knew they had seen her run out of the Great Hall with tears in her eyes. She took a seat by Harry and Ron, though she knew they would pester her about what had happened. She refused to look at them as Professor Snape started writing down instructions and ingredients on the board. She took out her quill and parchment, wordlessly, and started to copy down, just as they were told to do every morning.  
  
When Potions was over, she packed up her stuff, and headed out the classroom. But not before glancing over at Draco, as she saw him run his hand through his silvery blonde hair. He looked up and caught her, making heat rise in her cheeks. She turned away, flustered, as she tried to stop the rapid beats of her heart as she raised her book bag to her shoulder and slid it on. With a sigh, she walked out.  
  
Outside in the corridor, Harry and Ron were waiting for her as they started walking to their next class. She saw that they both sent her concerned looks as they walked beside her. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. She knew they were going to ask. And to be honest, the last thing she wanted to do right now was talk about it. She just wanted to forget about it.  
  
"Hermione.. Are you okay?" Harry asked, quietly as students brushed against her and gave her strange looks. She just looked ahead, her gaze insisting to travel down to the floor.  
  
"I'm fine, Harry," she said simply, trying to achieve that cheery and casual voice she had had years before, when things had been different. When things had been better. But she lowered her eyes in disappointment when her voice did not manage to hide her feelings. Her voice held much strain, as if she was trying hard not to cry again. She avoided Harry's gaze as she felt it on her.  
  
"Hermione.. In the Great Hall, during breakfast. You're not.. Please don't lie to us." She looked straight ahead, kids in dark robes passing by, heading towards her. Laughter filled her ears, conversations.. It all reminded her of when she had been that way. Carefree and.. Happy. Happy.  
  
It had been so long since she had felt that. Happiness. It almost felt strange, the word chiming in her ears. It felt new and odd, but drained and pale. It felt almost alien to her now. She didn't think she could ever know happiness like before. Deep inside, she could feel a slight tear that was making its way down, until her heart was completely ripped apart. She felt as if she was going to choke out tears once again, her hands trembling with warmth. Her eyes stung, her throat and mouth dry. She didn't answer him, as she could feel almost everything fade around her.  
  
"Hermione?" Harry asked, worry flickering inside his emerald eyes. "Hermione?" Ron sent him a nervous look, darting back to Hermione when she wouldn't budge or take notice of Harry's calls. Hermione walked straight ahead, her gaze unwavering. Her limbs felt numb, her feet tired but buzzing with anesthesia. Suddenly, she felt someone grab her from behind, as she stumbled back and that hazy, foggy cloud vanished. The noises, laughter and voices rushed back to her ears, as she blinked, trying to clear her mind. She turned, and Harry was there. He had a handful of her robe, as he stared at her, his deep green eyes dark but dull. She could see worry, but didn't take any more time to figure out what else, as she looked down at her feet.  
  
"Sorry," she mumbled softly. Harry let go of her, his gaze still on her.  
  
"Don't be," he said to her, quietly. "Just tell us what's wrong." Hermione looked up at him with pleading eyes, before her stare darted to their next class.  
  
"It's my mother," she said quietly. Harry nodded, solemnly and silent, before they both headed towards the class. Harry didn't ask for the rest of the day, and she knew why. She knew he didn't think she would like it if he did, and it also brought back some unpleasant feelings for him. He had never gotten to know his mother. He had never had the chance, and when he had, it was taken away from him, just like that. She didn't want to talk to him about it when it just made him feel worse about his own life.. She would keep it to herself, if it made him feel uncomfortable and sad. Although all these months.. Just keeping it to herself, it was getting tiring and strained.  
  
She felt like she was cracking. Every single fiber in her body. It was just too much. It was overflowing, too tightly packed inside of her. She just didn't know what to do.  
  
She just wished she could find someone.  
  
Someone who would understand, someone who would listen.  
  
Someone who wouldn't make her feel bad for finally letting out how she felt.  
  
Someone who would know everything, with just one look. Then words wouldn't be necessary at all. No, words wouldn't be necessary at all.  
  
Just then, a boy flashed in her mind.  
  
A boy with platinum blonde hair. And the most piercing silver eyes she had ever seen.  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
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Draco had seen what had happened. He had seen what Harry Potter had to do. He'd seen the look on her face, the sadness and hurt in her eyes. He had seen the way she had tried to cover it up in her deep brown gaze.. It could've fooled anyone. And it would've. But not him. He could see right through her; he saw the way she was pained by the fact that her best friend was asking her that question. And the way her answer made her eyes almost tear up again. He had seen everything. Everything.  
  
It almost scared him that he could read her so well. And the unsuspected want to be able to read her much clearly and better, terrified him. It made him slightly angry again.  
  
He just didn't know what had gotten into him. When he looked at her, when their gaze had met in Potions, and in the library.. He had felt like he was sinking, caving into the ground pleasantly. A deep, intense, rising warmth had spread through his stomach, a tingling wave surged through his veins. He had never felt that way before, and he didn't think it was possible. But if it wasn't the way his heart felt as if it was to leap out to her, or the way his skin had become burning hot, it had to be the way he had gotten lost inside her eyes. Almost.  
  
Her eyes were deep, pained and hurt but he could see the potential and how it once had been filled with happiness and joy. But he could also see how her world had fallen and crashed down on her.. The darkness and fog inside them was all too strange to see in her eyes, but he recognized it all just the same. But something had jolted him back to reality, as he had just been beginning to feel as if he was sinking into the bottomless warmth of her brown eyes.. He remembered feeling as if everything around him had faded and vanished, the way they drew him in and made him feel as if he was locked. And controlled by such a strong lullaby or trance that even he could not break out of.  
  
He had crashed back before he could realize that he had never really want to break out of it at all.  
  
And when he had realized and taken in their surroundings, he noticed that his reality felt cold. Colder then when he had been in her reverie, and he could almost feel that bitter shiver trace up his spine.. He didn't want to admit he missed the warmth she brought to him, or the warmth he found inside her eyes. Although deep inside he already knew.  
  
He had never known it. He had never felt it, or read about it, nor had been told about it. He hadn't known. Until now. That strange, pleasant and dreamlike drowning feeling.. It left him wanting more of it, missing it. Or rather, missing her. He wouldn't have ever guessed that it was going to be her to make him feel this way for the first time. Never in his life.  
  
But of course a lot of things had happened that he never could've guessed, or even bring himself to guess. He was changing, everything was changing. Everything seemed so much different from when he was younger. Now he welcomed the bitter and winter chill that plagued and frosted the windows of Hogwarts in their cold seasons. He had strayed from Quidditch.. And barely thought of it anymore.  
  
He was no longer afraid of his father. Nor anything else that he could possibly face, as he tried to ignore that nagging feeling inside that he was wrong.  
  
He didn't care that Harry Potter was better, as everyone said. Yes, he hated him. But it didn't matter, not as much as before. He had much more important things to do than think about how to make the scar faced boy miserable. It had been fun, sure. But he had grown up. And growing up meant changing, in more ways than one.  
  
Somehow, in a sense, he was awfully glad he had grown up. Not because now he had much more freedom and sense of things, but because it broke him free of every stupid little thing he had done long before. Someway, it almost felt like starting over. Or, just letting everything fade into faintly visible scars that no one else could see but himself. It was better than being trapped in the same glass box for his whole life.  
  
He smirked slightly, walking down the empty corridor to his Prefect dorm. It was dark and quiet; everyone had gone up to their dorms and common rooms for the day. The dim torches hung, and provided little light, but he didn't mind. Darkness was never something he was ever afraid of.  
  
His mind had traveled back to Hermione again, as his eyes glimmered, despite the shade and looming shadows. He felt his heart almost skip a beat, as he thought of the way she had looked at him, in Potions. He had thought he had seen something there, something gleaming in her dark chocolate eyes. But before he could read it, she had turned away and started to walk out.  
  
Curiosity was still thriving inside of him, as he realized she had never looked at him like that before. In her gaze she held some kind of mysterious secrecy that he couldn't help but wonder about. He wished to know how she felt about him, but he shook that thought away as he turned the corner.  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he wouldn't be able to get any sleep tonight once again. He would be too busy thinking about her.. And what she could possibly be hiding from him. Just thinking about everything about her.  
  
The way she seemed to look into his soul, the way her eyes burned and melted everything inside of him. The way she had smelled, that made him almost want to close his eyes and walk closer and hold her. The way she had made him feel so light-headed, dizzy and faint all at the same time.  
  
He entered his dorm, not bothering to turn on the light, and closed the door behind him.  
  
Click.  
  
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Hermione was sitting up, the restless slumber she pleaded and prayed for still not returning to her. She was rubbing something between her fingers, running and feeling the fabric through the palm of her hands and skin.  
  
Even in the dark she could see the clean, white fabric. Her fingers traced his initials that were embroidered. The cloth felt so soft and silky in her hands, as she continued to hold it. But she wasn't thinking about the handkerchief. She was thinking about the boy who gave it to her. Again.  
  
She thought and was pretty sure he would be the one she would be thinking of for all of her restless and absent nights. It bothered her, but not as much as it used to. She had started noticing how much he had changed, how much he almost never glared at her coldly, or called her a mudblood. That softened some of her pessimistic thoughts about him, but she could still feel a nagging, tugging pull at the end of her heart.  
  
He shouldn't be the one who she thought of every night.  
  
He shouldn't be the one who kept her awake all these nights.  
  
He shouldn't be the one to be making her feel all these weird sensations in her stomach, he shouldn't be the one who made her heart skip a beat.  
  
He shouldn't be the one she longed to see every day.  
  
She knew all this. She knew it. Her mind was screaming it at her, but her heart was insisting not to listen. She was listening, but she wasn't taking it in. Maybe it was because she didn't want to take it in. She didn't want to hear that what she was doing was wrong and disgraceful; she didn't want to hear any of it. If she had any control over herself, or anything for that matter, she wouldn't be thinking of Draco Malfoy. She wouldn't be losing all this sleep. She wouldn't still be crying over her dead mother. It just wouldn't be this way. Anything. But she couldn't control it. She couldn't even come close to controlling a bit of it. She remembered telling herself that everything was going to be just fine, that it was all going to fade away into scars but everything would okay. Everything would be just as how they were before.  
  
She lied. And she remembered how much it hurt to say it to herself, to lie to herself.  
  
She couldn't control fate, or her thoughts, or her tears, or the future.  
  
She couldn't control her heart.  
  
She knew she shouldn't be thinking about Draco Malfoy, or letting him make her feel this way.  
  
She shouldn't be so weak. But that was another thing she couldn't control.  
  
She shouldn't long to stare into his eyes, or let him pierce through her with his pale, silver eyes.  
  
She shouldn't. But she still did. 


	4. Bright Eyes

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: don't own characters, just the plot.  
  
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Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! And thanks to my new Beta Reader, Tiffany.  
  
Sorry it took me such a long time to update.. I was sick, and I also needed inspiration to strike once again.  
  
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"What is it that you express through your eyes? It seems to me more than all the words I have read in my lifetime."  
  
-Walt Whitman  
  
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Chapter Five: Bright Eyes  
  
Hermione had managed to escape from the dormitory again, not bothering to wait and see Harry or Ron. Her curls were plastered to the sides of her face, sopping wet. She hadn't had the time to perform a drying spell; once she heard Lavender stir, she had run out as fast as she could. She didn't need any more questions that she needn't answer, or any demands as to where she was going. She was going to the library; which was although very predictable from her, people still asked.  
  
She had three books clutched to her chest, panting as she slowed down in the corridor. It was still dark; the halls empty and the torches were still lit, although they shone only dimly. She could feel the drops of her soaking hair seep through the shoulders and back of her shirt, her hands still trembling from the sudden cold that had washed over her. Her footsteps echoed through the corridor, bouncing neatly off the walls. She gripped her books tighter as she let out a ragged breath that slightly shook her body.  
  
She walked down the vacant, dim corridor, her mind still persisting to think of someone else. Someone else other than the boy who managed to haunt her all this time, day and night. But as her footsteps rang through the hall, she could not help but feel her heart beating faster as she thought of him, and the way he looked at her.  
  
Her heart started beating faster than when she had been out of breath.  
  
His piercing silver eyes were dark and mysterious, hiding the truth that could never even be found. They were cloudy, but shone brightly to her, so brightly that her eyes would immediately fall on him in a crowded room.  
  
And there their gaze would meet. She could still remember the cold, burning chills that traced through her skin and coursed through her veins. And the way the once firm and sturdy ground beneath the soles of her feet would seem to spin and sink in, eating her pleasantly until someone had snapped her back to reality, away from her reverie.  
  
Or until he would look away. Which, she remembered she would plead, deep down in her heart that he wouldn't, that he would continue to look into her and let her get lost in his piercing gray, overcast eyes.  
  
It always seemed to surprise her when she was the one to look away first, when deep inside in her heart she knew she never intended to. And never would, unless for reasons she knew she would never come across. She felt a rip of sadness tear through her. She sighed as she continued down the corridor to the library.  
  
She crept in, assuming that no one was there, as always. The door squeaked as she tried to close it, the air in the library unusually sharp and cold. She turned and walked over to the shelves, scanning the sides of the books to locate the places of her borrowed books. She knelt down on her knees, and stood up again, her eyes darting. She moved to the next shelf.  
  
After a few minutes of skimming through that shelf, she went to the next, and the next. By the time she was done with that bookshelf, her knees were wavering, her legs aching and trembling from having to always crouch down, and stay that way for a few minutes. Hermione sighed, frustrated, as she sat against the bookshelf behind her. She could feel the cold, hard floor underneath her legs chill through the fabric of her jeans. Her eyes wandered, and stared at the multicolored books. She let out another ragged breath, closing her eyes.  
  
"It's five shelves over that way." Her heart ceased its beating, as she tried to swallow hard at the familiarity of the voice ringing in her ears. She opened her eyes as she turned her gaze and was met with the sight that had haunted her for so long.  
  
His eyes were still as she remembered them; chilling her bones and piercing through her senses, scattering her thoughts so she could not think straight. His face was serious, but yet she could not read it as clearly as she thought she could; this brought her slight disappointment. His penetrating gaze stayed on hers, firm and steady. His eyes had such seriousness she could feel an odd feeling erupt in her stomach that she had never felt before. It was as if she wanted to reach out to him, hold him. She looked away, as she felt her nerves buzz even more hyperactively as she thought of how his touch might feel, how warm he would feel if he would ever come as close to being that near to her. She felt her heart pound as she wondered at how it would feel to have his arms around her, how it would feel to taste him.  
  
"I didn't know anyone else was here," she said softly, her eyes on her knees laid out in front of her.  
  
Draco's gaze never left her, as he watched and observed her, somehow trying to memorize the vision of her in his mind, although he knew it was already scarred and traced in there, as it had been all these past nights and days. He noticed her hair was wet, the shoulders of her thin shirt soaked. Her hands were pale and unbruised, as her fingers curled around the books she held. His heart started beating faster, and harder, as his eyes just stayed on her, trying to think of something to say but the sense of her just sitting there was a distraction. He swallowed hard, wondering if she could hear how loud his heart was beating inside of him.  
  
"I saw you come in," he said quietly. Hermione looked at him again and saw that he also had some books in his hands. She smiled faintly, and Draco thought he had almost felt the attempt of his heart literally trying to leap out.  
  
"I didn't know anyone else came in here during weekends," she said, her brown eyes twinkling faintly. "Besides me."  
  
Draco grinned slightly, and Hermione felt a breath cease in her throat. Her hands tightened around her books as she tried to calm the rapid beats of her heart, and the energetic flutters in her stomach.  
  
"Assumption isn't always right, Granger," he said to her. She nodded, smiling. She didn't know how, or why, but she was awfully glad that he was here. She missed hearing his voice, although it chimed and echoed through her ears. She noticed his usually dark, serious eyes were now twinkling. She nodded, as she tried to stand, brushing herself off. She held her books, her fingers gripping onto them tightly, for she was afraid that once she brushed past him, she would lose her senses and drop the books. She didn't want to seem like a clumsy fool to him.  
  
She started walked towards him, as she brushed past, and headed to the shelf he directed her to. Draco stood frozen beside the bookshelf, his eyes closed. His heart was still beating furiously, his skin cold but burning. His senses had gone wild once she brushed past him, and the faint smell of vanilla filled his nose. He practically had to hang on to the bookshelf to keep himself from her. He heard her footsteps; faint but still loud in his ears. He swallowed hard, as he ran a hand through his silky blonde hair. After a few seconds of trying to compose himself, he heard her footsteps returning. He opened his eyes, and turned to follow after her, but he halted at his steps.  
  
She was only about three feet away from him, looking at him with slight worry and curiosity. He couldn't help but see that dark cloud cover her once bright, brown eyes again. He tried to search them, but it was as if she was doing something to them to prevent him seeing her feelings and thoughts. He noticed she still had two books in her hand.  
  
"Is there something wrong?" she asked him, her voice quiet but firm. He heard concern in her voice.  
  
He looked at her, before trailing down to the books in her hand. He knew she saw him, and it would've been suspicious to him too, but he couldn't help but turn away at the feelings and the way her deep brown eyes tried to pierce through him. He couldn't let her see. He didn't want to. He didn't even have enough courage to look inside himself and search for the root of his feelings, and the rapid and constant pounding of his heart. He had a pretty good guess, although he shook it away every time it sprung up in his mind.  
  
The root of everything, the root of his feelings, the root of his restless nights. The root of his heart warming and starting to function like never before was her. The root of it was her. The root of everything within him was her. Draco felt a cold shiver trace up his spine.  
  
"Hand me your books," he said to her. Hermione started walking towards him, but froze.  
  
"What is it? Are you hurt?" she asked. She couldn't help but feel curiosity and worry build up in her. Why had he been standing there with his eyes closed? Why did it seem as if he was trying to hold on to the bookcase so tightly? And why did he avoid the question? Her fingers almost dug into the hard covers of the books. Draco sighed, as he made his way to her, and reached for her books. She felt crackles and sparks of energy surge through her as his hand touched hers. Her hand shifted to move back instantly, but his fingers had entwined around her wrist. His hand felt smoldering on her skin, his warmth spreading through her skin and blood rushing through her veins at a faster pace. She was caught in his gaze, as his face was only inches from her own. She saw flecks of slight irritation in his fog-like gray eyes, but she was taken back by what she thought she saw. Fear. But it couldn't be. What could he possibly be afraid of?  
  
Draco could almost feel her quivering, as he loosened his grasp on her. He was able to search her eyes much clearer this time; shock had erased that barrier she had built. He saw worry, fear. He felt his heartbeats cease into silence. Something flickered in them, something dark and something she wanted to keep and remain secret and hidden. Something that he knew, if not now, then once before.  
  
Something deep inside him screamed that it was very familiar to what he was feeling.  
  
He swallowed hard, as he refused to believe the voices and shouts in his mind. There was one particularly loud one that drowned out all the rest. But he made it fade, not caring how much they protested and screamed.  
  
"I'm fine," he told her, his voice quiet but strong and firm. "I'm not hurt." Hermione's lungs felt as if they were going to burst, as she had been holding her breath all this time. She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. He took his other hand and reached for the books whilst he still held her wrist. Hermione let her grasp loosen, so he slipped them from her fingertips. After having the books in his hand, he let go of her slowly, his hand tightened around her skin one last time, savoring the warmth and burning tingles they brought through the skin of his fingertips to the palms of his hand. Finally he let go, and his gaze traveled down to the book. Hermione stood, frozen. Her wrist now felt cold, missing the warmth of his skin pressed against hers.  
  
His sudden touch and the absence of it sent bitter chills but blood rising incredibly hot in her veins. She was dumbfounded, in a sense, as it took her quite a while to compose herself. Draco quickly glanced up at her, and noticed she was looking down at her feet, her arms crossed over her chest. He swallowed hard, as he walked past her and headed towards the correct shelf the book was originally placed on.  
  
Hermione let out a ragged breath as his footsteps echoed in her ears, fading to somewhere behind her. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to erase everything; her thoughts, her feelings. She was still slightly trembling. Her wrist still burned pleasantly, and she thought it would never really fade away. He had scarred her, somehow, when he touched her. She followed after him.  
  
She found him crouching low, in about the twelfth shelf, scanning the sides of the books. She watched as his pale, smooth hands held the book, and how his other hand trailed with his eyes as they traveled at a rapid, but graceful speed.  
  
But then something struck her. Why was he spending so much time, so much effort trying to get her book back to the correct place? True, she could've just laid it out on Madame Pince's desk, but she wasn't one to add to more sloppy hard work that she knew kids who had detention had to do. She had a feeling they wouldn't bother to do it correctly, shoving them into random places where they could manage to fit them. Books were vital and important, as it was obvious they didn't see it that way, but they deserved adequate treatment. She could feel a slight smile returning as she watched him, now on his feet searching the top shelf. Somehow, the fact that he knew much about the library, and its coding system as it surely seemed, made her joyful and glad. But she couldn't figure out why.  
  
"It's rather complicated," she said to him, "you don't have to do it if you don't want to. You seem to be getting quiet tired, and I could just place them on Madame Pince's desk." So long to her 'books deserve adequate treatment.' But she was just confused as to why he was willing to spend so much time looking for its place. Even she wasn't going to willingly look for it, after all this time. To be honest, she didn't understand why he wasn't getting frustrated; at least frustrated enough to show it.  
  
Draco cast her a quick glance before returning his gaze to the shelf.  
  
"I have a library just like this one back at the Manor," he said to her. "It has a similar coding system, although this one tends to drag on longer." He grinned as he finally found the right spot for the book. He positioned his hand, pushed the other book further to the side and placed the book inside. Hermione watched him intently, not quite surprised to know that he had his own library; she already knew he was filthy rich. Although that didn't spread any negativity through her; not even a trace. Instead, something else.. A warm, glowing-white feeling spread through her stomach. And suddenly she felt like smiling.  
  
He looked at her as he turned the remaining book over to examine the side. He could see a faint smile on her face, and he could feel lively flutters bounce off the walls of his stomach. He could see her brown eyes were no longer dark and cloudy, but now bright and even a little joyful. Something else erupted in him to see that he could do that to her.  
  
Hermione watched him as he turned the book, and tore away from his gaze to his hands.  
  
"You don't have to do that one," she blurted out. He looked up at her again. "You've already done the other two, and I can tell it's becoming quite a nuisance, so I can just take it and lay it on Madame-"  
  
Just then, he broke into a wide grin, and Hermione, absolutely stunned from his reaction, halted in mid-sentence. Suddenly, she heard his chuckles, filling her ears like an angel's song caught in a fresh spring breeze. All of a sudden she noticed that his fog-gray eyes were now twinkling more than before. It set off some sparks and nerves that burst and hum through her.  
  
"It's fine, Granger," he said, turning his gaze to the shelf once again. It surprised him how heartily he had laughed, and yet it was triggered by her. He hadn't laughed that way in years.  
  
"I don't mind the practice," he said, still searching. "Why leave it to the sloppy, detention-flanked kids, when you could do it better yourself?" Hermione felt something swell inside of her.  
  
"I just-You probably have things to do, and I don't want you to feel as if you're obligated to help me, since-"  
  
"That's odd," Draco said, interrupting her once again. She watched him, confused.  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked, as he searched the book; from the front cover to the back, the first page until he flipped through it to the last. When he didn't answer, she came closer, walking towards him. When she was in front of him, he looked up at her, curiosity flickering in his eyes.  
  
"Where did you get this?" he asked her. She was quite taken back by his question, although there was no hint of anger or interrogation.  
  
"Here," she said, confused. "In the library, in one of these shelves."  
  
"You found this here? Are you sure?" He was so close she could almost feel herself slightly trembling again.  
  
"Yes," she replied. "Why? Is it stolen? What's wrong with it?" she asked.  
  
His gaze flickered down at the book, as his gaze rested on her again. He saw worry and bewilderment in her eyes. Holding the book, he lowered his hands to his sides.  
  
"There's something I want you to see," he said to her, quietly. She quickly cast her gaze down, her hands starting to wring and sweat.  
  
"Don't worry," he said to her, slightly grinning at her reaction, but not at all as amused as before. "I'm not a death eater, I'm not a minion of the dead Voldemort, I'm not leading you somewhere where they sacrifice muggleborns to a God, and.." Her gaze traveled to his face, as he was smirking at her. She felt her heart trying to jump out to him furiously.  
  
"And, I'm not as bad as you think," he said to her, quietly. "At least, not evil."  
  
She stared at him, his eyes not trying to cover up any mischief or any possible trick he could be pulling on her. Although, deep inside her, she knew better than to doubt him, in some strange way. She nodded, and he smiled slightly.  
  
Suddenly she felt something clamp over her hand, something warm that sent embers and tingles through her skin, her heart thundering and pounding. She looked down and saw that he was holding her hand firmly, her blood rushing in her ears.  
  
"Come on," he said to her, as he pulled her behind him, walking to the very edge of the bookcase. Hermione, stunned, couldn't think of anything else to do than to follow him.  
  
Draco smiled faintly, glad to know that she was behind him and not beside him, therefore not being able to see the look on his face. Her hand felt so smooth and warm in his, and such contact with her sent something burning, but at the same time unexplainable, flow through him. Their hands fit perfectly, as odd as it was.  
  
Then he remembered, back when he had been holding her minutes ago, his heart had been the one with the voice that rose so loudly and defiantly. The one he tried to block, the one that confirmed all the impossibilities, all his fears that he managed to keep so dim in the dark, hoping it would fade, hoping that he would forget.  
  
That voice rang in his ears again, chiming from his heart. This time he didn't know how to avoid it, for now it was accompanied with her brown, bright eyes. And the fact that he had made her smile, and made her feel that way, even for just a moment.  
  
He smirked as they neared the entrance, tightening his hand on hers. 


	5. The Secret Library

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, just plot.  
  
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Draco's password for the Secret Library, 'Assendium,' you'll notice, is very similar to the password to the humped witch in PoA, which is 'Dissendium.' The difference is actually just one word. I didn't really base Draco's password on that, but when I realized it, it was above all ironic. So I decided to keep it, because the strange irony worked; Harry's secret passageway, Draco's Secret Library. I thought it was funny and odd.  
  
I hope you all enjoy this chapter.  
  
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Chapter Six: The Secret Library  
  
Draco suddenly stopped in front of a dusty bookshelf in a dark corner of the library. Hermione was squinting through the dark; she could see cobwebs, tattered books, and old candlesticks. She tried to concentrate on those things, any one of those things, instead of thinking about how his hand seemed to be holding her hand so firmly and tight, and the weird, flickering feeling in her stomach that it brought. She tried to tell herself he was only doing that because he didn't want her to wander or get lost, but deep down inside she was wishing deeply that he would never let go.  
  
The air around her felt cold, although for such an old looking room that seemed as if no one had ever come in for ages, it didn't smell musty or old. As odd as it was, it smelled fresh and bitter, like the night air. The scent sent something to build up in her, quickly stacking and mounding to her lungs. Suddenly, she could feel her hair rise as she felt a chilly breeze, although as she looked around, there was no sign of a window nearby. She walked closer to him, suddenly feeling worry and fear inside of her. She couldn't see Draco's face, but she could still see the glowing shine of his platinum blonde hair, even in such looming darkness such as this. Hermione watched him intently, wishing he would hurry, although wishing he would never be far from being this close to her again.  
  
"Assendium," he said lowly, and the bookcase creaked as it slid aside. She peered from behind him, and saw the blackest darkness she had ever seen. She swallowed hard as she stared at it, wide-eyed.  
  
"Uh-" she started, but Draco pulled her forward.  
  
"Let's go," he said to her, and they walked into the complete darkness. Hermione stumbled forward, and the bookcase behind her closed. She stood, frozen, as Draco tried to pull her behind him again. The darkness loomed around her, and she felt herself becoming cold and even slightly afraid. She always had a slight fear of dark places. Really, really dark places. Draco pulled at her hand, but she wouldn't budge. He turned around to face her, and as strange as it was, she could still see the glimmer of his silver eyes. It struck her with amazement and curiosity; even in such a dark place such as this, where she could not even see her own hands if she held it right in front of her face, his eyes still shone like the glowing moonbeams in the midnight sky. It seemed there was nothing his piercing eyes couldn't penetrate through. It seemed as if they could reach her through anything, anything at all, and it brought her slight comfort; even if it was far from the truth.  
  
"What is it?" he asked her. She stood silent, so mesmerized by his gaze. Just then, she suddenly knew that he was smirking at her.  
  
"You're not scared of the dark, are you Granger?" he said, amusement in his voice. Hermione turned away from his gaze, which, she was sure, could still clearly read her, even in the dark.  
  
"Let's go," she said, and he just nodded, chuckling as he still held her hand in his, making his way through the darkness. Hermione tried to keep her wits and thoughts together, although their echoing footsteps made her jumpy. She couldn't help but imagine in her mind that something was going to pop up and she was going to jump up twenty feet in the air from fright and surprise. Hermione shuddered. She never liked surprises in such creepy, cold and dark places such as this.  
  
"How far do we have to go?" she asked him. She felt his hand tighten around hers, and her heartbeats suddenly became deafening in her ears.  
  
"We're here," he finally said to her. She felt him stop, and she halted. She swallowed hard, as silence filled the room, although accompanied by her heart's booming rhythmic beats.  
  
"Menatridus," she heard him say. Then suddenly, lights flickered on and she had to stand back and blink to get adjusted to the abrupt effects. But as she opened her eyes, it was hard for her to take in her surroundings. She could barely speak. Her mouth was open, gaping at the place. It was absolutely magnificent, absolutely wonderful. Draco's hand loosened on hers and let go, as he watched her face intently, sorry to let go but knew it would've been awkward if he had held on. She walked slowly to the bookshelves, and touched the shelves and books in awe. Draco could feel a smile forming on his face, just watching her reaction. He knew she would like it, and for that he felt great appreciation for her. Somehow, he was glad to be able to share it with her, to show it to her. All of the girls he knew couldn't care less about a valuable, old library. His hand still burned and tingled pleasantly from holding her hand, the cold air seeming intrusive and bitter against his skin. He missed the warmth he once held in his hand, the feeling of her connected to him for a moment.  
  
Hermione looked around, still absolutely speechless. She couldn't believe it. She didn't know this, such a thing as this, could ever exist. The ceiling above was filled with detailed paintings of angels and the heavens, goddesses and fairies, the sun, the stars and the moon, all at once. The walls were hinted with sparkling gold, a faint hue of the color setting the place off as dreamy and surreal. She knew this could only happen in her dreams. Yet, here she was, standing in the midst of the stunning place. She turned, only to see more magnificent and tall shelves filled with ancient books, the floor shiny and somehow glimmering underneath her. The room was vast, no doors in view, just shelves and books. She felt that swelling feeling inside of her again.  
  
"I take it you like it, then?" he asked her. She turned around to him, the circular room so perfect and stunning. Draco felt his heart stop when he saw her face. She was absolutely glowing, her bright, brown eyes sparkling like he had never seen before. Her mouth was curved into a breathtaking smile, her hair shimmering in the light.  
  
He had never thought she looked so beautiful.  
  
"It's perfect," she told him, her voice still faint from awe. She walked closer to him, and he could feel his heartbeats start to hammer loudly in his ears. He swallowed hard as he looked into her deep brown eyes, her face less than a foot away.  
  
"How did you find this?" she asked him. He smiled, looking around the room then returning his gaze to her.  
  
"My father told me about this, actually," he told her, his eyes not even wavering or flickering with anything as he mentioned his father. He continued. "Back when he was still here, he told me, and how he found this with his friends. How he got in, I have not a clue," he chuckled lightly. "But he told me that if I ever needed a place to myself, somewhere quiet, somewhere I could get away from Hogwarts without leaving the grounds or getting caught, I could come here." Something in his eyes made Hermione's heart flip and pound noisily inside her chest.  
  
"I didn't come here right away when he told me," his gaze left her as he looked behind her. "But when he was gone," he paused, "I didn't ever plan on coming here; I even forgot about it for a while. But I found myself here, following the steps and the spells and his sense of direction." Hermione looked down, as she noticed this when he had looked away; it still hurt him to talk about his father, and she understood. It wasn't easy and it never was going to be when your father, the one who taught you who to hate, the one who taught you everything you knew, everything you could possibly want to know, was suddenly taken away.  
  
And soon finding out that you'll never see him again, finding out that your father whom you looked up to for all your life wasn't even going to be there for you to see. Even someone as strong as Draco, someone who used to be so cold and vacant and absolutely void of any emotion besides that, could not hold it down. No one could.  
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered to him. His back was turned to her now, as he had started walking past her as he was talking.  
  
"Don't be," he said in a cold, hard voice. "He was a bastard. He deserved it." Hermione's eyes lingered on his back, as he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself. All these feelings and emotions that he had thought he had long since buried had come back again, slicing and ripping through him. The truth was, he had never said anything about his father to anyone. Not to his mother, not to anyone who ever asked. But yet, here he was, telling her. Confessing. And the odd thing was, he felt like telling her more, spilling out what he had kept bottled inside for far too long. He felt no regret of telling her; he knew she wasn't the type of person to gossip and spread news about anything as such a private matter as this. Maybe that was why he proceeded with telling her more; because he knew he could trust her. Even though he was a cold, witty Slytherin and she was a brave Gryffindor. Even though they were as diverse as diverse could get. She was different; she understood. She knew what an evil person his father was; yet he knew she understood how he felt. He got the feeling that she was the only one and would be the only one, though she was best friends with the person who had driven his father to the edge. He didn't hold it against her, or anything else, for that matter. Because somewhere deep inside, he was grateful to have found her, although she had been in front of him all these years. He thought maybe that she would be the one to help him, to bring back what he had missed all these years. Something about her told him that she was important, and that he would need her, if he didn't already.  
  
"I only wish I'd seen it sooner," he told her, turning around and entrancing her in his eyes once again. "Maybe then I would've realized that act he'd been pulling on me all along." Hermione stared into his eyes, and something that flickered in them made it suddenly hard for him to swallow.  
  
"You couldn't have known," she said, her voice kind and soft. "Even if you should've, you couldn't have. And it's not your fault; you can't blame yourself for your father's doing. No one can." Draco's eyes bore into her, and suddenly she wasn't aware of the stacks and stacks of books around them. She wasn't aware of the glittering walls, or time going by at all. It felt as if some warm, but frosty and calming gray pool had taken her in and was drowning her pleasantly. She wasn't even aware if she was breathing anymore, just that her heart was booming and her head felt so woozy and light-headed from the way he was looking at her. She suddenly noticed their closeness, and that his face was just mere inches from hers. Her knees began to feel weak, a glowing warmth rising and spreading through her stomach. His dark silver eyes were only glimmering distinctively, but enough to keep her trapped and engulfed by the feelings and emotions they brought to her. But as she was leaning in closer, she froze. She felt something snap inside her, and she turned her head and looked away from his hypnotizing eyes. She felt her nerves and senses screaming at her, as she prevented herself from raising her hands to cover her face and let out a long, ragged sigh.  
  
Draco froze, as he saw her reaction. He also snapped out of whatever he had been in, and pulled back slowly. He swore at himself mentally, shutting his eyes for a moment, trying to calm all the nerves that were bursting inside of him. He licked his lips, as he felt suddenly as if the air had gotten feverishly warm. He opened his eyes, and looked at her; her cheeks were rosy as she looked at her feet, avoiding his gaze. He turned away, as he tried to forget that moment and convince himself that it was nothing. But there was something bubbling and coursing through his veins that he couldn't quite identify, yet he knew it had to do with her somehow. He ran a hand through his silky hair, his gray eyes settling on one of the bookshelves. He tried to steady the rapid beats of his heart.  
  
"Feel free to borrow anything from here," he told her, his voice still firm and as steady as before. She looked back up at him, and could tell he was avoiding her gaze. She was slightly confused at what had happened, or yet, what had been about to happen between them.  
  
"Except over there," he said, and she looked over to where he was looking. It was a bookshelf, one that seemed darker and more mysterious than the others, although it didn't make sense how it could to her. Something about it made a chill travel up her spine. Draco's eyes wandered back to her again. He looked at her, his eyes dark and serious.  
  
"Don't ever go near there, or lay a hand on that shelf or any of the books over there, do you understand?" There was something dark that flickered in his eyes that told her he knew something about it, but was not willing to tell her. The tone of his voice was stern, and his expression did not give him away. She didn't quite understand, and she wanted to ask why she wasn't allowed to go near it, but she found that her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. She just nodded, and his features softened slightly. He sighed, looking around the room.  
  
"Promise me," he said, almost in a whisper. Her heart fluttered as if it had just grown wings and struggled to fly away.  
  
"I promise," she said softly.  
  
"Don't say a word about this; not to Potter or Weasley, or Dumbledore, or anyone else. This place was intended to be kept a secret," his gaze flickered over to the restricted bookcase again, "for more reasons than one."  
  
"Dumbledore doesn't know about this place?"  
  
"He does. But I'd rather that he doesn't get concerned over who comes over here, and he certainly doesn't like it when students bring it up. He thinks it's dangerous to have anyone coming over here, but he's let me come here since he caught me sometime last year." He smiled faintly. "He was shocked to see that someone else, a student, rather, knew about this place also. If you're up here as often as I think you're going to be, you might run into him sometimes."  
  
"You mean I can come up here as often as I like?" she asked, hopeful. His smile widened at the look on her face.  
  
"You know the way, don't you? The passwords.. It's quite easy once you get over your fear of dark places. But for that part, there's also a spell for lights, if you get too scared." Hermione gaped at him.  
  
"You mean to tell me that you could've easily said a spell for the lights in that dark hole?" He grinned at her.  
  
"Now you know, Granger."  
  
"I can't believe you," she muttered, imagining that pitch-black darkness she had to walk in for ten minutes.  
  
"I happen to like cold, dark, creepy places," Draco said, amused. "Besides, I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave."  
  
"Gryffindors prefer light in dark places when it's possible and absolutely necessary," she said. Draco chuckled, his laughter filling her ears fluidly.  
  
"You should've just said yes when I asked if you were afraid. I would've cued in the lights." Hermione felt a blush spread through her cheeks, as she looked down and didn't answer. Draco laughed again, heartily; not sharp, cruel and cold. Hearing his laugh, for some odd reason, warmed her heart in some way. After his laughter subsided, although still chiming and echoing in her ears, he spoke.  
  
"I'll be up here sometimes. But sometimes I won't be, and just remember what I told you. I don't want you getting hurt, or worse, up here." Hermione opened her mouth to ask what could possibly hurt her up here, besides books falling on her, although that was highly unlikely without Peeves in the room, but closed it as he smiled at her and started walking towards the books. She sighed, watching his walking figure, before smiling and looking around the circular room again.  
  
The walls were still tinted gold if you had an eye for such a thing. It was stunning and magnificent, although it was quite small. Smaller than the library, of course. It was almost just a circular room with bookshelves standing shoulder to shoulder, with few in the middle of the room, but there was a wide, open space where it was just empty; just the shiny, sparkling floor. Almost like a ballroom. Her smile widened as she headed for the shelves also. 


	6. The Visits

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, just the plot.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Thanks to all of you who have taken the time to review, and continued to read this story.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Chapter Seven: The Visits  
  
Hermione frequently came to the Secret Library, sometimes with Draco, and sometimes not. Sometimes he would already be there, waiting for her; and as she would walk over to the shelves, nothing could dominate over the silly smile she had on her face. The books were ancient, but brilliant and fascinating. Much more fascinating than the ones at the library. She picked out three fairly thick books; a faded green one with gold lettering that had been chipped off from age and use on the side, a pink one that had been a radiant red once before, and a maroon one that had strange inscriptions on the cover.  
  
She sat with him at the table, noticing he usually just had one book; it was in his hands. But of course, the book changed almost every visit, and she smiled every time she thought about how she had found another person who read as much as her. She looked at him for a moment, watching him as his eyes traveled with speed and grace, moving down line by line. A couple strands of his silvery blonde hair had fallen over his eyes, and she had to fight the urge to reach over and slick it back. His platinum blonde hair had a light, almost heaven-like golden hue. It looked so smooth and silky, and she tried to imagine how it felt to run her hands through his hair. She thought, it must be like the smoothest, downy and soft silk that could only be weaved by God's angels, or God himself. Her eyes traveled down from his hair to his face. She felt a breath cease in her throat as her heart skipped a beat. There was no doubt he was handsome; there was no denying it. He had been handsome before, too, but now his features were mature and grown, his face slim and his skin smooth, milky and pale. He had grown into a young man, she knew. When there was no hesitation in saying that everyone had changed over the years, she thought he had to be one of the few who had changed in a disbelievingly vast amount. She observed him, her eyes roaming his serious expression, and she wondered what he was reading, what he was thinking, what he was feeling. She watched as he raised his hand and flipped the page, and his eyes were drawn to the top of the page. Her eyes wandered down to his hands, and she felt as if a hot, tingling breeze swept through her. She wondered how his hands would feel against her skin, if they ever came into contact with her. She felt something erupt inside her, trying to imagine how it would feel, how she would feel, with his hands and fingers roaming on her skin, holding her close. She knew, if he ever did touch her that way, he would be branding her. Marring her invisibly, and every time she would scrub her skin while she bathed or looked in the mirror, she would remember. Him, his hands. And she knew that when everything would rush back, the memory, the faint remembrance of the feelings and emotions he sent to course through her veins, she would feel something unexplainable. Perhaps guilt, or longing. Or the fact that all she wanted was just to feel his hands again, holding her close and never letting go.  
  
But she raised her gaze from his hands, and they settled on his face again. She felt slight guilt rip through her; she wasn't supposed to be feeling this way, or thinking of him this way. She wasn't supposed to be wondering, trying to imagine the feeling that would spread through her when he would touch or hold her. It was despicable. It was shameful.  
  
She brought her gaze back to her book, forcing for her mind and thoughts to settle so she could read. But they refused, and she was left swimming in the cool, spinning sea her thoughts had become. She knew she shouldn't be here with him. She hadn't even told Harry and Ron, though they made no law or rule that she was not allowed to be around him. Or like being around him. They had never said anything of that matter; so then, why was it that she felt as if she was breaking something set and drawn out very clearly? Why was it that she felt as if she was betraying them somehow? She sighed, and closed her eyes as she felt a sharp hint of accusing thoughts and shouts beginning to form in her mind.  
  
How long was it until they were to question where she went all this time, all these days? How long was it going to be until they look over at the Slytherin table and notice that Malfoy wasn't there either? How long was it going to be until they were to put two and two together?  
  
How long was it going to be until they find out?  
  
She knew what they would say. Ron would accuse her of lying, of going behind their back. He would yell and shout at her, while Harry would just look at her disapprovingly and sadly as if she had deceived them. She could handle Ron's shouts and false accusations, but Harry's sad, green gaze was something that broke her heart. It would make guilt swell up inside her, her throat burning, until she was just holding back her tears barely. What was she going to say to them? She couldn't tell them about the library; Malfoy had told her not to. Her head was beginning to ache, her conscience shouting at her, for not doing what was right, but being here because she wanted to. She hadn't even considered her friends' feelings until now. What was she going to do?  
  
Draco's gaze traveled from the word-filled page to the girl sitting in front of him. His dark gray eyes settled on her, and watched her intently. Her long, brown waves cascaded down her shoulders, her face set to an expression that he knew all too well. He could tell she was thinking deeply of something, and although her eyes were set on her book, her thoughts were about anything but the piece of literature she held in her hands. Her eyebrows were furrowed with confusion and her deep brown eyes were dark. It was something of a serious matter, he knew. But he didn't know exactly what it was.  
  
He observed her, his eyes filled with something too unreadable and unknown even to him. Part of him wanted to know what was troubling her, but the other part was already shouting and yelling at him for being like this to her. Like they were friends. Like they both had come to some understanding, although Draco didn't know what. But it was peaceful, and their time spent here was quiet, and most of the time they never even uttered a word. Of course, he remembered, she would always smile at him as she would enter and leave, somehow as a 'hello' or 'goodbye.'  
  
Late at night, his mind was still filled with thoughts of her. But now, they were much more intense and stronger than before. He would come back to his room, still thinking of her, and falling asleep dreaming of her smile and hypnotizing brown eyes. And waking up, he found himself looking forward to seeing and meeting her at their Secret Library. He didn't know what it was, but he felt something building, constructing, as if stacking every time he thought or dreamt of her. And when he saw her, when her breathtaking smile was directed at him, he could feel it get stronger and fill him like nothing he had ever felt before. But every time he caught himself trying to dig deeper within himself to figure out exactly what it was, he shook the thought away, as if expecting it to fade and disappear into thin air. He figured it was silly and it would vanish in time, but every time he tried to reassure himself that it was just that, something made him just want to close his eyes and think it over again. Something wasn't right, and he knew that. But he refused to search any deeper, to look for the truth. The truth was painful; he knew from experience, and sometimes just going along with a lie was just better. Living the lie. Sure, when the truth would finally surface or break through the barrier, the impact would be ground shattering and would leave him weak and limp, but it was better than finding out when you truly weren't ready. He would be left dumbfounded, shocked and confused out of his wits. At his absolute weakest. He left it alone at that. At least, he tried his hardest to.  
  
He was still watching her, her expression unmoving as if time had frozen stiff. Somehow he found it quite adorable, but puzzling. What could she possibly be thinking about?  
  
"Granger?" he finally said. Hermione was pulled out of her quicksand of thoughts, as she raised her gaze to Draco. He had a slight smile on his face, and she could feel warmth spread through her cheeks as she realized that he had probably been watching her. "Are you alright?" he asked, and she looked down, flustered.  
  
"I'm fine," she said quietly. He nodded, his face regaining its unreadable, serious look. She sighed, as she glanced up again and caught his gaze before he turned back to his book. She let her gaze linger on him for a moment, before returning to her book also. The words finally began to make sense to her, but her thoughts began to swarm again, preventing her from focusing or concentrating on what she had in front of her. Her thoughts were filled with him again, but mostly on what was happening between them.  
  
What was happening between them?  
  
When she would let her gaze travel up to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, their eyes would meet. And she felt that weird, fluttery feeling inside her that she felt every time she saw him, but it felt like she was going to float up into the air. Sometimes he would slightly smile at her, or just look at her. And it wasn't staring; it was anything but staring. Staring was much like a trance, yes, but staring was much more vacant and empty than what he was doing. His eyes were dark, filled with some strange mist that she could not read through. But when she did try to search through them, something would suck her out of the trance and suddenly the hall was too noisy and too busy. She remembered she would always feel flustered, after looking at him like so, even though she knew that no one else saw. She would just poke at her food, avoiding looking up for the fear of getting lost in his eyes again. Maybe it was fear of getting caught. Or maybe it was because she knew all too well she had never felt this way before, and never looked at a boy that way before. Maybe it was guilt, or nervousness because she never did know what he could see in her eyes, or what she gave away when he looked into her eyes. In a sense, she didn't want to let him know any of what she had been feeling for him, or what she felt when he was around her, or just looked at her so intensely. She didn't even know if she had any real feelings for him, although she knew something deep within her coursed so strongly through her veins every time she thought or watched him. She was confused, and just wanted to shake away the thought of her falling in love. With him. Draco Malfoy. It wasn't right. It wasn't the right time, with her studies and classes that meant more than ever, since they were nearing their graduating year. It wasn't the right person; both him and her. She had never been in love before, but she knew it was filled with heartbreak, tears and pain. She did want to fall in love. But she just didn't know when, or with whom. She was just so confused and frustrated; she was not supposed to be feeling any of this. Any of it at all.  
  
She couldn't deny that it had something to do with who Draco was, or his reputation. She wouldn't have minded, and she shouldn't mind. But when she thought about the possibility, it made her nervous, scared and guilty. They were just too different; that's what anyone would say. And she could see why they would say that; he was in Slytherin, she was in Gryffindor. There wasn't an even odder or strange match. But she knew that she shouldn't go by that, or even care about what others would say. But it was holding her back. Everything was, somehow, someway. It just crossed everything that people had believed and assumed. It wasn't Draco. No, it wasn't him. He was a great guy, and no matter what anyone said, he changed. And, he was... He was...  
  
He was perfect.  
  
He was absolutely perfect. There wasn't a single flaw she found in him. Even his faults and mistakes were another trace of perfection to her. The way he smiled, the way he spoke, even the way his deep silver eyes searched her much more deeply than anybody else could, was perfect. The way he laughed, the way his hair fell across his eyes sometimes, the way his eyes twinkled when he found amusement or joy in something... It was perfect. Everything about him was perfect. But maybe that was another reason that held her back. Maybe that was one of the voices that made guilt and fear swell up inside of her.  
  
No one was perfect. It was just too good to be true. He was too good to be true. Being perfect was above everything nature set out, above human capabilities. No one could be perfect.  
  
But he was. Draco Malfoy was. He was in her eyes. And somehow, as she realized that, staring at the blurred lines of her page, she felt something rise, but at the same time subside in her. Like a piece of the puzzle had finally been fitted in, but she felt too overwhelmed, as if she had just stepped back and realized what she was in for.  
  
But what was she in for? What was so overpowering, vast and strong that she was already scared just thinking about it? What could be so intense? What could break everything that she had, but make her gain the one thing that she would ever need, or want?  
  
What was going to happen to her, if it wasn't already?  
  
Just then, something flashed through her, like a bolt of lightning across the dark, stormy sky. Her thoughts had moved from the thought, but considered it and started swarming again, humming, buzzing, screaming. They were moving twice as fast, shrieking twice as loud. Her head suddenly began to feel heavy and loaded, the book she held in front of her so blurred and blotched that she could not even recognize the words anymore. Her hands felt cold, her mind painfully bursting and exploding with so many assumptions and possibilities. Suddenly, before she could even think about it, she put down her book and covered her face with her hands, letting out a long, ragged sigh. She felt some sort of release, but it only helped slightly. She felt like she was going to explode; everything that seemed to be bottled up was on the verge of breaking out. Visions of him flashed through her head, visions of her, Harry and Ron, visions of people looking at her so scornfully in the corridors. She couldn't take it. She just couldn't.  
  
Draco immediately looked up from his book, and watched her. He didn't know what she was doing, but her face was in her hands, and she seemed to be trembling. He felt worry erupt in him, watching her faintly shaking figure, silent but breathing harder than normal. He put down his book, his face etched with concern.  
  
"Granger?" he asked, his voice full of worry. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"  
  
Hermione froze, holding her breath as she remembered that he had been there. She cursed, mentally. She tried to compose herself, trying to even her breathing pattern back to normal. But as she uncovered her face from her hands, and looked into his eyes, her nagging thoughts still screamed and demanded. She smiled at him, weakly.  
  
"I'm fine," she said quietly.  
  
"You're a terrible liar," he remarked. Her smile vanished, as she looked down. He didn't even need to look at her to figure that out. She let out another sigh, as she covered her face with her hands again.  
  
"I don't know what's happening," she said, "I don't know what's happening to me. My thoughts are screaming, and filling up until I feel like I'm going to explode... This has never happened before, not even before an exam." She lowered her hands. "I don't know what to do." Draco looked at her, trying to search her eyes but she was trying her best to make it difficult, he knew.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" he said, "Surely it must be something that confuses you or triggers a strong emotion." Hermione avoided his gaze; afraid he might see right through her. She stayed silent, refusing to answer, until he spoke again.  
  
"I can't help you if you're not willing to be honest."  
  
"Someone," she finally said. Draco raised an eyebrow, curious to know who that someone was. Deep inside, he hoped he was the one that seemed to be occupying much of her thoughts, considering how much of his mind she had taken, but he shook the thought away.  
  
"Someone?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," she answered, her voice quiet.  
  
"Like who? Potter?" At that remark, she looked up and met his eyes.  
  
"Never mind. Just forget it. I'm fine. I really am," she said, opening her book again.  
  
"No, Granger," he said, "I thought you wanted me to help you."  
  
"I never asked you to help a mudblood like me," she suddenly said.  
  
Draco stared at her in silence, taken back by her words. She realized her mistake, and shut her eyes, taking a breath. Her words came back to her, and she understood the negativity of her words, not only to her, but to him also. She knew what he got from it, from the look in his eyes in face; she had hinted about the vast gap between mudbloods and purebloods... And how talking to one, being friendly to one was shameful and disgraceful. It was offensive to her, and it was completely out of line. Especially when all he tried to do was help her; reminding him of blood and past wasn't something she had planned on doing, and all she wished she could do now was take it back.  
  
Draco stared at her, in disbelief and shocked. In his ears, he could still hear her words echoing and chiming faintly. Was that what she thought this was all about? That he, that this, somehow all tied into her blood? Is that what she thought he only cared about?  
  
"I'm sorry," she said to him, her eyes pleading and guilty. "I didn't mean to say that. That was rude and stupid; it was inappropriate. I'm sorry." Draco just stared at her, looking at her and trying to search her deep brown eyes again. He could not see through her apologetic barrier. There was silence, as he did not reply. She only looked at him, waiting for something, anything. But as moments passed, she did not receive it. She tried to read what he was feeling, but his eyes were cloudy like the sky before a heavy storm.  
  
"Is that what you really think?" he finally said, his voice quiet but firm. "That blood, it has something to do with all of this?"  
  
"No," she said, "I didn't mean it. It just slipped out. I'm sorry."  
  
"Granger, just answer me and stop apologizing."  
  
"No," she said softly. "That's not what I think."  
  
There was silence, as they looked at each other, as if trying to understand, but knew deep down inside that they already understood all too well.  
  
"Blood," he said quietly, breaking the silence, "That's really not it. That's really not it at all." 


	7. Guardian

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own characters, just the plot.  
  
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
To Joanne and CB, this is for you.  
  
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Chapter Eight: Guardian  
  
Hermione stepped into the Library, and was surprised to see that the light was already on. She walked in, books in hand, eyes peering through the shelves, trying to see who was there.  
  
"Malfoy?" she said aloud, trying to search through the shelves. "Is that you? Malfoy?" She passed the middle shelves, but there was no one to be seen. She felt slight fear build up in her. Who could be in here?  
  
"Mal-" She halted her words as she turned around, and was met with the sight of their Headmaster, looking at her, smiling through his glasses. She inhaled her breath sharply, from surprise.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore," she said, "you surprised me."  
  
"Ah, Ms.Granger," he said, still smiling, "As was I to see you here. I didn't know anyone else came in here besides myself and Mr. Malfoy." She shifted her books in her hand.  
  
"He um...he showed this place to me," she said quietly.  
  
"Oh," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling.  
  
"Was he in here?" she asked, uncomfortable from the look in his eyes.  
  
"I'm afraid no one was in here when I entered." Hermione cast her eyes down, slightly disappointed.  
  
"Oh," she said faintly.  
  
"Did you have to finish some sort of business or matter with him?" he asked, observing the young girl.  
  
"No, I was just.... No," she said, flustered. Dumbledore nodded, as he started walking past her, gazing at the place, smiling. She watched him.  
  
"This place is extraordinary, isn't it? It's been here ever since Hogwarts was made, and it still looks quite magnificent."  
  
"Yes it is," she said, "it really is stunning."  
  
There was silence, as he studied the place.  
  
"When you look at this, observe the details and know what hard work went into it.... You feel as if this is the side Salazar never showed. As if he put all of it into this place...and look how beautiful it is." Hermione froze, as his words chimed in her head.  
  
"Salazar? Salazar Slytherin?" she asked, shocked.  
  
"Oh yes," Dumbledore said, turning back to her. His blue eyes were twinkling only dimly. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, confused.  
  
"But didn't he-"  
  
"Ah, Ms.Granger," he said, cutting her off. "I hear what people say about him, the rumors and gossip. I cannot deny any of them, but you should not judge him by what people think are scandalous enough to spread around. He was a good person," he paused. "Before."  
  
"But Professor," she said, curious. "Why did he make this library?"  
  
"All those rumors, they only remark on what evil he did and had inside of him. But even as evil as he would become, there is one emotion that even the most malevolent person cannot ward off," he smiled at her. "Love." Hermione looked at him, confused.  
  
"To clarify, Ms. Granger," he said, "is that he made this library for none other than Ms. Rowena Ravenclaw." Hermione gaped at him.  
  
"Rowena Ravenclaw? He loved her?"  
  
"Yes, Ms.Granger. And from the looks of this library...very much. It must've taken ages to build. And these books are the only ones of their kind in the whole Wizarding World."  
  
"How did...how did he know? About what she wanted...surely he made this because he knew precisely what she wanted?"  
  
"Ah yes, well everyone knows that Rowena's intelligence and love for books is very well-known and legendary. Salazar knew her love for ancient and valuable books." Hermione stared at him in silence, before looking down at her feet. There was silence, as she thought it over.  
  
"Did she love him back?" she asked quietly.  
  
"There are...rumors that she did so, or that she did not. No one knows for sure," he said. "I have a strange feeling that she did, somewhere along the way."  
  
"He loved her...a lot, didn't he?"  
  
"Yes. Almost that it seemed inhumanly impossible, is what people say. He always treated her different from the other two."  
  
"But when he became evil...he didn't think of her, did he? He didn't think that she could be one of the victims that could be killed? He didn't think of what could happen to her?" Dumbledore stared at her silently, before he spoke.  
  
"I don't know, Ms. Granger. I don't believe anyone does, except Salazar himself." He looked at her, as she kept her gaze down, thinking deeply of something. He knew that somehow, during their conversation, something made her think of Draco Malfoy. Nothing else could cast that dark, cloudy look in someone's eyes. He just watched her, as neither of them uttered a word.  
  
He had seen enough to already know what was happening. And it was only in the Great Hall, and her reaction that he had seen. He had seen the way Draco would look at her throughout the whole meal, and it was something of a much deeper matter than staring. He could tell somehow, that whatever it was, it was dominating through his once-cold heart, and his father's engraved words. He knew that someway, when Draco had been spending time with her, that each one of those things started to fade away...even though everyone was almost positive that it was marked there for eternity. She had a powerful effect on him, something that made him realize and forget what was never to be remembered in the first place. He was already certain of what was happening. He wasn't sure of what the young girl felt for the boy at first, if she even noticed, but now he knew, just watching her.  
  
She was thinking of him. Her reaction and slight disappointment that he was not here gave her away. Their conversation about Ravenclaw and Slytherin triggered something in her; how the most evil person could not avoid love. Somehow that tied to Draco, or her feelings for him. He only smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. He didn't believe he had seen two people more perfect for each other. He was sure, and he knew, that after his father died, Draco was going to need someone. Someone who understood, someone who was different. And he had changed, he knew, right form the second he received the news. The old Draco Malfoy was gone, but everything in him was still in ruins. And Hermione Granger was just the person he needed. Just as she needed him.  
  
It was true they both suffered vast and deep losses. They were both greatly affected, and he wasn't sure there was anything to help them get back on their feet again. They needed someone, someone besides their greatest friends. Sometimes, at such circumstances that they both had experienced, friends could not help as much as any other situation.  
  
Little did they know that they already found that person. And that they needed each other as much as the other did. It was quite extraordinary in his eyes; two people, of the most diverse... They shared a loss, a bond. A strong bond, he knew, that was stronger and deeper than anything that he had ever seen. The two that were against each other in any way possible, were now the two that were going to need each other. For the boy who never knew love, or how to love...came the girl filled with it.  
  
For the girl who needed someone, someone who was different, someone who would fill that void in her heart...came the boy who would care about her more than anyone, and fill her whole heart, the painful void disappearing.  
  
It was amazing, and quite stunning, thinking it over. Two of the top students of Hogwarts... It was really a perfect match. But he already knew too much that both of them had not even seen or realized it yet. He just smiled at her, knowing that they would. If not later, then soon.  
  
"Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy.... It was quite a surprise to me when you said that he had shown this place to you," he said, as she looked up. He continued on. "But he has changed greatly, and well, even the blind can see that he wasn't the same person as before." He smiled, as she nodded, silent.  
  
"Change," he said, starting towards the door. "It can affect anyone. Old or young. It is inevitable. Some changes are for the better, some are for the worst. Everyone has their own view from it, and there is no definite answer. But, for Mr. Malfoy's case...it was for the better." He turned around to face her, his blue eyes serious but still sparkling faintly.  
  
"And, I think that the both of us can say that, it was better for more reasons than one." He smiled widely. "I shall be going, Ms. Granger," he said, motioning towards the bookshelf they used to exit. "It was quite a nice talk we had, and I hope you enjoy this library." He turned and started walking towards the bookshelf. Hermione stared after him, but as he muttered a spell, and the bookcase slid open, he hesitated before he went in.  
  
"Take care of Mr. Malfoy. He cares a great deal about you, I see that. Just look up from your table in the Great Hall, and the proof is all there. He watches over you." She stared after him, shocked and surprised from his words, but before she could ask what he meant, he had disappeared and the bookshelf was now closed. She stared at it, his words echoing in her ears, trying to understand what he meant. Malfoy cared about her? He watched over her?  
  
She just didn't understand why he had said that...or how he could know. She did look up from her table sometimes, and her gaze would fall immediately to the Slytherin table. She was surprised that their eyes would always interlock, but it occurred to her that maybe he had been watching her. But why could he possibly be watching her?  
  
That was the question that puzzled her at best. Maybe he was watching her because he thought that she would tell Harry and Ron about the library.  
  
But why did Dumbledore tell her that Malfoy cared for her? Her gaze fell from the bookcase, as she walked blindly, still in a daze, towards the table and sat down. She was still swimming in her sea of thoughts and questions. The tide was high and coming down hard, embracing her, trapping her in. There was no escape. There was nothing she could do. But even with the tide, her suffocating thoughts...his silver, piercing gaze was still visible. It still penetrated through everything and anything.  
  
How could he care for her? She was...she was everything he hated. Everything he was taught to hate. She was of dirty blood. She was a mudblood. And though he had told her that blood had nothing to do with it, she couldn't quite believe it. She was still in shock over the past few days, weeks. He had changed. They all knew that. She did, and she knew it from her heart. But when it came to the possibility that he could actually care for her...  
  
No. It just...it just wasn't possible. It didn't add up. He couldn't care for her. He was just being nice. He had just turned over a new leaf, and decided that in order to prove that he had really changed, he would have to be nice to her. A mudblood.  
  
And although she knew that it had many reasons as to why it could be true, that it was just a way to prove himself, she could feel her heart sinking slowly, painfully, as if caving into the hollow pit of her stomach. It hurt to think about it. It hurt to think that he was just using her, even if it only took little offense.  
  
It hurt to think that he couldn't care about her. Because she was certain, from what she was feeling, that she cared for him. Very, very much. So much that she couldn't bear it, so much that she wished strongly that it would just go away at times. It was hard and painful. But right now, it felt as if everything seemed to be rising, but stinging and aching at the same time. It felt like she was splitting apart into two pieces; doubt, and optimistic hope. But there was only weak optimism. And it did nothing to lighten the weight or ease the pain. She was hurting, and she didn't want to be. Because she knew, that deep down, she was hurting for the wrong reasons. She was hurting for the wrong person.  
  
Because the boy she cared so deeply for, could never care for her as much as she cared for him. And that struck something inside that sent a terrible sting and ache that surpassed and went further than anything she had ever felt. It made her bones tremble, her heart crack, her lungs droop from the immense pain of breathing, but not breathing enough. She was suffocating.  
  
She had never wanted any of this. Any of it at all. But somehow, someway, it was all laid out in front of her. All she needed to do was see what was right before her, and realize this was her path. And maybe, in reality, two paths were meant to cross.  
  
And it was all left on a choice. One single choice. To believe it, or to refuse it and let everything fade away into thin air. It was her choice.  
  
She just hadn't seen it yet. 


	8. The Storm

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: don't own characters, just the plot.  
  
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I was over at Snitchseeker a couple of nights ago, and discovered something on their boards. It was who people thought would get together in the sixth book. I was met with great disappointment at how few Draco/Hermione fans were there on that board. But I was glad, because at one post, it said that people are so quick to say 'no' to Draco and Hermione, that JK might just put them together because people don't expect it (after I read that post, it sparked a little flame of hope in me. To me, it was pretty much a dead end, because I never thought that Draco and Hermione would get together in the books. Although, I wished and wished then prayed and prayed.) I'm guessing from all the posts I've read, that JK likes to throw people off track sometimes in the HP books, and then do something completely unpredictable. I applaud that Brilliant woman. Although, I'll give her one heck of a standing ovation if she puts Draco and Hermione together.  
  
So to the person who wrote that great post about Hermione and Draco, this is for you, and all of you who have strong faith in the couple!  
  
I hope you are all enjoying this story so far. This is the chapter where there's a bit of oddness that's starting to happen, and mild violence. But Draco comes to save the day!  
  
-tearsofher  
  
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Chapter Nine: The Storm  
  
Hermione entered the Library, and said the spell for the lights. As the lights flashed on, she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get used to the immediate effect, then opened them back up again. She sighed as she felt her heart fall. She looked around the empty library, the walls still sparkling faintly and lightly golden. But that spark that had flicked on inside of her when she had first seen the library seemed to be fading. And she knew why. She let out another heavy sigh, as she sat down and opened her book. The library was too quiet, too cold. She almost felt like turning back, but she didn't.  
  
He wasn't here. He hadn't been here for the past two weeks. Everyday, she would come and the lights would still be off, and her hopes of him being here to greet her, were crushed. And every time the lights came on...her heart would become awfully deflated when she caught sight of the empty place. She missed him.  
  
She still came here everyday, looking up from her book to look back at the bookcase, hoping he would be there, smirking at her. But he never was. She would wait and wait, not being able to concentrate on her book because it was as if she was expecting him to come in any second now. He never came. And each day when he didn't, her heart that felt as if it had been blown up full of air from hoping for his presence to be near her again, would be pricked with that jagged and sharp edge of reality and realization. It felt dry, limp, withered and weak. Useless.  
  
She saw him in class; at Potions, in Care of Magical Creatures, during their meals in the Great Hall. She would always meet his gaze, and sometimes he would nod at her, but so rarely that it broke her heart. His eyes were dark and they were still the silver pools that entranced her intensely, but something had happened. He was hiding something. Something that caused him to look away each time their gazes locked for more than a moment. Something that made his eyes seem darker and much more cloudy, with a mist that she could not penetrate through. And every time she tried, he turned away. And she could hear and feel her heart getting smashed into a thousand pieces. It was cruel. He was cruel. He would act nice to her, lead her to this library...then ignore her. As if.... As if nothing had ever happened. But maybe nothing did happen. Maybe that twinkle in his eyes every time he smiled at her was just her imagination. Maybe that moment, when their faces were so close and her nerves were screaming, her heart beating so loudly that it deafened everything else, was just.... It was nothing. It meant nothing. It wasn't a moment. They had never had a moment at all. She had just gotten carried away with her imagination. She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus but the small tears in her eyes were blurring every word.  
  
She had told herself this. That he was just using her. That this, all of this, the ignoring and acting as if nothing had happened, was expected. He was Draco Malfoy. He had changed, she believed. Only he needed her to prove it. Once again, she was blind, blinded by his laughter and that honesty in his eyes when they were close, blinded by his smile that he had greeted her with those days before. She should've believed it. She had known.... But she didn't think it would happen. She just didn't want to believe it. Once again, she was alone. She thought she had had someone, but it was just a ghost. Fake. No one real. No one to hang on to, no one to lean on. She was all alone again. But this time, it hurt much more. The pain made her lungs heavy and feel so small that she couldn't get enough air in and out, her hands trembling, brittle and weak. She felt so dumb. So stupid.  
  
She closed her book, slamming it shut, and wiping her eyes hurriedly. She didn't want to cry. Maybe she was weak, but she was not going to cry about it. The pain wasn't real. She wasn't crying about Draco Malfoy. No. It wasn't real. She hadn't lost anything, anything at all. She sighed, feeling hot air release from her lips, her skin burning from her tears and mouth feeling bittersweet and salty. She started breathing hard, to prevent herself from sobbing, and started thinking of how he had been before. His words still rang in her mind; "Mudblood." She shut her eyes, focusing, mentally telling herself that she knew this was going to happen. It wasn't something to cry over. To be angry about, yes, but not something to spill her tears for. He was Draco Malfoy. He was gone. Just forget it. Everything. Those past weeks, in here, forget all about it. It meant nothing.  
  
Her breathing began to shallow in a while, trying to recollect herself as she stared at her sticky, wet hands. She tried to erase him from her mind, thinking about Harry, Ron and her studies. But she found that she could not breathe, and the tears started slipping out again.  
  
She hadn't felt anything like this before.  
  
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Draco was lying down on his bed, his back flat against the silk sheets. His eyes were closed, the lights off and the darkness invading everywhere where the light could not even reach. But in his mind, something persisted and stood out from the darkness. It was something he had not erased since that day at the library, despite his efforts.  
  
It was those same deep, brown eyes that had haunted him for so long that he felt empty without seeing them inside his mind. He felt something buckle down, as if chained, inside of him. His throat felt restricted, his mouth dry but at the same time sour and sweet. He swallowed hard, staring up at the bare ceiling.  
  
He was avoiding her. He was almost sure that she knew that too. The reasons weren't clear to her, he knew, but it wasn't any clearer to him. He was avoiding her. He just was. He asked himself why, but something, reasons, rise and stack at an alarmingly fast rate, although it was if they were blurred and blotched. He could never understand what the reasons were. But he looked hard, he tried hard to try to read those feelings, but he never could.  
  
It had been two weeks since he had seen her smile. It had been fourteen days since her smile had been directed towards him. It had been eight hundred forty hours since he had seen her eyes light up and sparkle. It had been too long, far too long since he had been near her. He almost felt cold, bitter and painfully numb. Her presence near him always brought warmth, a sort of warmth he could not feel from anything else, or get anywhere else. It was sacred, glowing, powerful, deep and intense. Nothing he had ever felt before. He couldn't get enough of it; it was addictive. It filled his soul, drop by drop, full to the lip. It was something he closed his eyes and tried to remember, to try to feel it spread through him again, but it wasn't something you could create, or imagine. It was something she held, something that only she could bring upon him. There was no substitute; there could never be. His skin felt cold, stinging from the chilly air, although the weather in his room had always been the same. He needed to feel that warmth again. Her warmth. He needed to fill his soul again with the brightness of her smiling brown eyes. He needed to go back. He needed to talk to her, to hear her voice again. In his ears, every night, her laugh and voice that was marred into his memory was getting fainter and soon grew into a small whisper. He needed to go to her.  
  
He closed his eyes, his hands grasping handfuls of the smooth silk in his hands. He couldn't go back. What would he say? What could he say? Her brown eyes would look as sad as before; dark and dim. Void of happiness and the brightness that had once taken place. He felt his throat go dry as he tried to picture her in his mind. Her eyes.... Her face....  
  
Betrayal was etched all over it. Betrayal, sadness and disappointment. Anger. But anger did not tower over the others. Anger was just in the background, holding them firmly together, making sure they stood upright. Her sad eyes broke his heart. He didn't know if he could handle her looking at him like that. He would feel weak, frozen, but the urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly, so tightly as if he would never let go, would become so strong that he could not refuse it. He knew. He would tell her how he didn't mean to hurt her or ignore her, and how he wished he could tell her why but he himself didn't even know. He would apologize, just the feel of her in his arms enough to uplift his soul again. He would do anything. And it scared him. He had never felt this way before.  
  
He saw her in class. He felt her eyes on him, and sometimes he could no longer hold his gaze down, and look up. Her eyes were sad, eager but hopeful; trying to search through him, ask why. But he would just turn away, as painful as it was.  
  
He just didn't know what to do. He had never felt this. He had never felt as if he would do absolutely anything for a person. Never. And he was terrified. Terrified out of his wits. And that's when it hit him, like a crack of lightning whipping across the dark sky.  
  
Draco suddenly opened his eyes.  
  
That was why he was avoiding her. Because he was afraid. Because she was making him feel this way. Because he had never felt something as strong and intense as this before, and he just had no idea what to do about it. He didn't want to feel this way.... He didn't. Not for her.  
  
But there was nothing he could do.  
  
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Hermione quieted down, tears on her sleeve and hands. She let out a long, ragged breath, as she reached for her book again and tried to continue reading. She wished that she would get lost in it enough to forget about him. And this place. Because thinking of this place immediately brought thoughts of him. And now, little by little, she felt bubbles of anger start to boil inside of her.  
  
After a couple of minutes, Draco vanished from her mind. But the quietness seemed to amplify every single thing. She turned the page, sighing, grateful that she was finally so engrossed in the book. Somehow, she considered it to be her savior. Anything that distracted her from thinking of Draco was something to be considered highly.  
  
Just then, Hermione's eyes stopped in the middle of the page, her gaze frozen. She heard whispers, and a cold breeze as if someone had opened a window. She felt a chill creep up her spine, as she looked up from her book. More whispers.  
  
There was no one there.  
  
She peered through the shelves, looked behind her. No one. Peeves couldn't possibly be in here; she was sure to check over her shoulder every time she made her way here. She tightened her grip on the book, as she nervously cast down her gaze and continued to read.  
  
Just then, she heard it again. Whispers, the bitter breeze that passed through her skin. She dropped her book, fear spreading through her. The whispers continued, echoing and ringing through her mind. She got up from her seat, and walked over to the shelves.  
  
"Hello?" she said aloud, her voice quiet but quivering from fear. "Is anyone there? Peeves, is that you?" No answer. The whispers continued. She felt goose bumps rise on her skin, a thin substance rising from her stomach to her throat. She swallowed hard, as she continued to walk around. She walked along the edge of the middle shelves, but no one was there. So she started walking around the circular room, her eyes sharp for anything peculiar. But suddenly, she realized that the whispers had gotten louder, the air colder and almost piercing through her. Fear stacked and mounded, but she did not turn to walk back to her seat.  
  
As she walked, the whispers got stronger and louder, until it was if they were talking right into her ear. She could not figure out what the words were, for it was fast, and maybe even in a different language. Just then, she was suddenly aware that something seemed to be pushing her from behind, but as she looked back, there was nothing to be seen. She could not stop walking.  
  
The whispers thundered in her ears, her mind almost numb from fear and the sudden loudness. Just then, she halted. She tried to keep walking, but her feet felt as if they were rooted to the ground. She could not move. The air felt icy, the whispers getting louder and louder, as realization dawned on her. She had stopped in front of the forbidden bookcase.  
  
She tried to turn away, and start towards her seat, but something held her in place. Something strong, cold...and evil. But as that thought struck her, something began to fill her. As if a lullaby had started to flow through her mind, and everything seemed hazy. Her arms and legs felt light, her vision getting blurry in a dreamlike way. She hadn't realized she was reaching out to the bookcase.  
  
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Draco was walking down the corridor at a fast rate. His footsteps echoed off the walls, the shiny floor shining beneath the lit torches against the wall. He sped up into a jog towards the library.  
  
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Hermione grabbed an edge of the book, still in a trance. She pulled it out, until she held it in her hands, a silver serpent on the cover, as she traced it with her finger. It had deep red eyes that sparkled like rubies, a long body that wrapped the back and cover of the book. It was midnight black, and it was too heavy for a book that was just fairly thick. The whispers filled her, rushing inside her as if they were invading her soul. Her skin tingled and felt as if it had been stretched far too much that it stung wearing it. Her fingers and hands burned, and suddenly, the serpent seemed to come alive before her own eyes.  
  
Its eyes sparkled evilly, its body slithering, its tongue flicking out and hissing. She ran her fingers on the dark cover of the book, entranced by the serpent and the melodic whispers in her head. She reached her hand over and slid her finger against the edge of the cover, then finally slipping it in and opening the book.  
  
Hermione snapped out of her trance from the impact of the effect. Suddenly, the wind became harsh and felt as if it was ripping her skin off of her, roaring as if a hurricane had formed inside her ears. Her lungs were restricted, and she could not take a breath in. Her heart was beating faster and faster, harder and harder, pounding so rapidly that it was painful. She felt as if something was slicing through her, ripping through her memories and tearing her apart from inside out. In her mind, flashes and pictures flickered rapidly. She saw her mother's car, headlights bright in the dark night. It was freezing, and it was raining hard. She could feel the piercing cold, the icy rain pelt against her skin. She could see her mother, squinting through the heavy rain, her hands on the wheel. Just then, a car came, sliding and spinning from in front of her, and she felt everything inside her freeze into solid ice. She still felt the rain, tasted the rain. She saw the mess, heard the roaring crash, her mother's and the other car in ruins. She saw their bodies, and she felt her knees give way. She screamed, her mother's dead body, soaking wet and stuck inside the torn car. Her eyes were closed, red fluid seeping through her shirt...  
  
Hermione could feel something fill her mouth. But it wasn't rain. She could no longer taste the rain. It was warm, and tasted of metal, corrosive and sweet.  
  
It was blood.  
  
And before she knew it, she was on the floor, the book still in her hands. Her world began to spin, the images, the sounds, the pictures, the pain, the tears, the rain, the blood.. It was mixing, and her heart felt as if it had been sliced and she was bleeding to death, from inside out. Something was dripping down inside of her. Something acidic and burning, something that made her feel weaker with each drop. Her ears ached as if they were going to explode, her skin wet and so painfully numb. Images flickered inside her mind again.  
  
It was a woman. A woman fully clothed in black, her hair the blackest black she had ever seen. Just then, she was right in front of Hermione. She was holding out her hand, her hand was deathly white and slim. Her fingers were long, but there was a black snake slithering around her fingers, hissing. It looked just like the serpent on the book. Hermione was getting weaker and weaker every second, her skin feeling so tight that she felt like someone was clawing at her skin, scraping it off her bones and flesh, skinning her alive. Suddenly, she saw the woman's face. She staggered back, as the woman walked towards her. Dark blood was dripping from her mouth, her eyes completely white and blank. She was crying...  
  
Tears of blood.  
  
Hermione tried screaming, but she felt as if a pair of deathly cold hands were gripping her neck tightly, strangling her, her lungs threatening to explode from lack of air. The woman stopped, and suddenly her visions flashed again. What she saw made her fall to her knees, her heart stopping suddenly.  
  
It was Draco. The woman was before him, her hands around his neck, strangling him. Hermione cried out, tears streaming down her cheeks. She tried to get to him, but she couldn't. The more she moved, the more he got further and further away. The woman's pale white hands were wrapped so tightly around his neck, she could hear him wheezing for breath, as he struggled for breath. His hands were trying to get her hands off, but she held on tighter and tighter, and soon his arm lay limp at his side. She needed to save him. But suddenly, the woman was no longer there. It flickered again, and she saw his body on the floor, his eyes shut and his face pale. She cried out loudly and hoarsely, as she rushed to him. She held him to her chest, crying and saying his name- his real name.  
  
"Draco," she cried, her tears dripping on his pallid face, "Draco, wake up. Wake up, wake up." He lay motionless, and she cradled him, crying and sobbing uncontrollably. He was cold, as she touched his face. His arms were limp, no sign of life in his body.  
  
"Wake up," she cried, holding him tightly. "Wake up, wake up. You can't leave me here. Wake up, please, Draco! Wake up! Wake up!" She started shouting, yelling, her heart breaking and her voice getting hoarse with each word. Her lungs ached, but she still cried out. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead.  
  
Just then the woman appeared once again, her hand still held out. Hermione could still see her through her tears.  
  
"What did you do?" Hermione yelled to the woman, still cradling Draco's head against her chest. "What did you do?" The woman didn't speak. She just held out her hand.  
  
"Say something! Say something! What did you do to him? Why did you- " her yells and screams were muffled, and suddenly everything seemed to be spinning again. The winds came back, and she screamed as she felt something rip through her. She felt something soak through her shirt, but she still held on to Draco. The wind roared, and she held him tighter, her grip firm and hard. The icy wind pushed her, and it spun, circling her. The woman disappeared, and when she looked down at her hands, Draco was no longer there. She cried out, sobbing, as she also noticed blood soaking through the middle of her shirt. She felt the wind's speed get intense and more powerful, as she staggered up, swaggering on her weak knees. The wind bellowed loudly around her, as she felt so weak that she was almost going to give in and get swept into the current. The visions and images flashed rapidly, but brought an icy pain to her heart, as she clutched her chest, screaming; Draco laying on the ground, dead, the woman strangling him, her mother, dead and blood covering her from head to toe... She was being torn apart, getting ripped to shreds. She was caught in the storm. She fell to her knees once again, breathing hard and sobbing, trembling. Just then she heard a voice, and something held her by the shoulders tightly.  
  
"Hermione!" he yelled, clutching her by the shoulders, fear rising up so rapidly in him. "Hermione! Can you hear me? What's happening? What's wrong?" Draco yelled. Hermione tried to push him away, recognizing his voice, but not knowing if it was truly him. Just then Draco noticed a book lay open on the floor. He felt something shatter in him, as he rushed to the book, on his knees. He grabbed the edge, and struggled to close it. It felt surprisingly heavy as he strained to shut it. He lifted it up, and pushed it down, closing the book.  
  
Suddenly, Hermione felt it stop. The winds disappeared, the pain, the whispers, the numbing, icy musk on her skin. She fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Her skin burned, her mind spun and her ears were deaf. Her heart was beating so fiercely it was painful, as she struggled to breathe. Draco rushed over to her, his eyes filled with worry and concern. He swallowed hard, as if he felt his heart was hanging onto one single thread painfully.  
  
"Hermione," he said, surprised at how casual his voice sounded saying her real name, something he had never done before. "Hermione?" Hermione didn't hear him, as she continued to cry, holding herself so tightly that her nails were digging into her flesh. He inched closer to her, and said her name again, but again she did not hear. Draco saw how violently her body was shaking, and how hard her nails were going into her skin. She was covered with sweat and tears, her skin so pallid that it seemed as if she was dead. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She struggled against him, sobbing, as he felt her tears on his skin. She tried to push him away, but he held her tightly, closing her eyes.  
  
"Hermione, Hermione," he said to her, "you're safe, I'm here. It's only me. Stop struggling, you're safe now." Hermione's attempts to push him away weakened, as his embrace tightened. She cried onto his chest, not fully comprehending that it was him, that he was holding her, but she settled and relaxed. Draco held her closely to him, as close as he could bring her, her tears soaking through the front of his robes. Her sobs did not stop, but he was patient, and held her close until she quieted down.  
  
His arms constricted around her, afraid of letting go. He knew she was hurt, and he was scared that he if let go of her, she would get hurt again. He had just seen her tortured before his own eyes. He swallowed hard, his throat dry and his heart beating hard against her own.  
  
He closed his eyes tightly, attempting to hold her even closer and tighter, but he knew it was no longer possible. He was already holding her as close as he could, holding her as firmly as he could. Soon, he could only hear her whimpers, the wetness of his robes soaking through his shirt.  
  
"Hermione," he whispered, "you're safe now. I'm here... I'm here." 


	9. Disappear

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: don't own characters, just the plot.  
  
Congrats Joanne, for getting accepted into Point Loma!!  
  
Okay, so the oddness ensues in this fic. You may not get it at first, but it's bound to make sense later. I'm working on the whole plot, besides the romance, but also how the romance is going to tie into it. Some of you may think that the whole book idea was stupid, especially the affect it had on Hermione, but keep in mind that this is Hogwarts.. And of course, Salazar Slytherin made the Library. Some ideas or stuff in here might be incorrect, and it doesn't really have anything to do with any events that happened in the books- I don't want to mess with any of the Voldemort and Harry stuff. I'm afraid I might absolutely ruin it or mess it all up, and so I'll just leave it to all of you fantastic writers out there that can take on that kind of stuff. And of course, JK Rowling, that wonderful woman.  
  
I hope you all are enjoying Breaking Storm, and please do not forget to review. I really want to know what you think about this fic so far.  
  
Have a great day,  
  
tearsofher.

_"Unless commitment is made, there are only promises and hopes; but no plans."_  
-Peter F. Drucker  
  
Chapter Ten: Disappear  
  
Draco held her, as her whimpers soon subsided and she just clung onto him, trembling. His eyes were shut tight, focused on the feeling of her in his arms, of her heart beating against his rhythmically. He felt fear swirling and mixing with worry and concern deep inside him, a sour but sweet taste in his mouth. He swallowed hard, holding her as close to him as possible. Questions were swarming in his mind, the book, her screaming and yelling, the look of fear, pain and haze in her eyes. She had been hurt, but he didn't know what else had happened. Her screams and cries were still chiming in his ears, the way she had cried out his name echoing and never fading. There was great sadness and agony in her voice, when he had heard and came rushing towards her. Why had she called out his name? What had happened to her? Did she need him? Was she calling out to him because she needed him?  
  
"You promised me," he whispered, his eyes still closed. "You promised me you wouldn't lay a hand on it. You promised me you weren't going to go near it."  
  
Hermione's world still spun, the roaring still in her ears, now only indistinctly. But she was well aware of the pair of strong arms holding her so firmly; only her mind wasn't functioning as fast and well as usual. She couldn't quite comprehend that it was Draco who was holding her. She still saw the pictures in her head, Draco dead and pale, her mother soaked with blood.... She dug her head into his chest further, closing her eyes tight, and wishing it would just go away. Her skin still tingled, and she even felt faint moisture on her skin where the stinging rain had come down hard on her. She was shaking, quivering, her hands burning but cold, searching for some kind of warmth to wash the buzzing feeling plastered on her fingers and palms. She could smell him as she was laid against him; he smelled of fresh night air and rain. His embrace warmed everything inside of her, her heart now beating slowly but hard, pounding in her ears. She could hear him breathing; feel his breaths on her skin. She could suddenly feel something swell and mount in her, and she felt as if she was spiraling, dizzy.  
  
Without warning, a chill overcame her as she remembered the lady holding out her hand, as if asking her to accept it. She remembered the wind that penetrated through her, almost crushing her lungs. She let out a long, ragged sigh against his chest, wishing that he would hold her tighter, and never let go.  
  
He held her tighter against him.  
  
Just then, she became aware of what he was whispering to her. Her heartbeats ceased in her ears as she heard him say her name. Hermione. She was sure she hadn't heard anything like it before--he said it with something deep that she could not find or hear when others spoke her name, or called out to her.  
  
"You promised me," she heard him whisper. "You promised me." She suddenly stiffened in his arms, as everything started flooding back to her.  
  
He hadn't been here. She was alone-- or she had been. Those whispers.... She was the only one here. He had been avoiding her, cutting off his visits here and any contact. She felt sadness and slight anger build up in her, thinking of him. But the fact that he was here, holding her, and he had broken the storm that she had been in here.... She was still quite in a daze. She didn't know what she was--if she was happy and grateful, or angry and sad. In an odd way, she was all of them at once. She could not explain the feeling; she wanted to push him away and yell and scream at him, make him understand, but she didn't want to leave his arms. She wanted to run from him and never see his face again, but she just wanted to be near him again.  
  
"Hermione," he said as he noticed that she had tensed up. She sniffled, as she pulled back, and he dropped his arms to his sides. She looked at him, her eyes red and puffy, her tear-streaked face sad. He looked into her eyes meaningfully. Something seemed to be stirring inside his stomach, something acidic and sweet. But it felt as if it was consuming him little by little, the fluid eating away at his flesh.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she said, her voice quiet and wavering. He looked at her, his silver eyes dark and his expression serious. He ignored her question, knowing what she meant and that he didn't have the answer.  
  
"What happened?" he asked her, and she just shook her head.  
  
"You weren't here. You weren't. What are you doing here now?" He just looked at her, digging for the answer or explanation, but knowing that he had none.  
  
"Hermione," he said, "what happened with that book?" She looked at him, her eyes still glossy and dark.  
  
"No," she said, "answer me. What are you doing here now? What are you doing here, Draco? You haven't been here for the past two weeks, and I was all alone, reading, and you weren't here. You weren't, Draco!" Hermione's voice was strained and wavered greatly, as if she was on the brink of tears again. Frustrated, Draco grabbed her by the shoulders. Her face was only inches from his.  
  
"What happened, Hermione? Just tell me what the book did to you," he said angrily. Hermione cried out and pushed him away, and he staggered back, but as she tried to run away, he caught her. He held her arms, tightly, and tears started forming in her ears again. His fingers were digging into her skin painfully, and his gaze staring into hers brought back those visions. He had been dead. Cold. He hadn't been breathing. Suddenly, tears were flooding down her cheeks again, and she was breathing hard, as if her lungs had been trampled on and injured. She saw it all over again.  
  
"She was choking you," she cried out, "her arms were around your neck and I tried running to you, to try and stop her, to save you, but I couldn't. I couldn't," she gasped in air. "You were dead. She had killed you, she had killed you! You were cold, and you weren't breathing, and-" she broke down into sobs, words completely lost to her now. She saw it so clearly. Everything. It was enough to break her, to claw at her heart until it was torn into shreds.  
  
"What?" Draco said to her, completely lost. "Did you see that? Who was choking me?" Hermione only nodded, not able to speak as she tried to cover her face with her hands, her heart getting crushed into pieces as it all returned to her again.  
  
"What did.... What happened to you? What did it do to you?" He let go of her arms, the cold air stinging her skin, and raised his hands and lowered hers from her face. His silver gaze searched through hers, and she felt a slight calm again, but as she looked into his eyes, something bolted through her, icing and freezing her blood rushing through her veins, her heart numb. She saw her again. The woman was in front of her once again, holding out her hand, the snake slithering in and out through her fingers. Hermione jerked away as she staggered back, but the woman came closer and closer. Hermione backed away until suddenly, she felt her back lay flat against something hard and firm. The woman had her cornered, as she was only mere inches away from her. Hermione felt that bitter fear spread through her again. The room's temperature seemed to have gone down to freezing.  
  
"What do you want from me?" Hermione cried out to the woman. "What do you want?"  
  
Draco stared at her in confusion, and alarm. He looked behind him, but there was no one to be seen. He looked back at her, and her eyes were wide with terror and panic, her back pressed so firmly against the bookcase. She was white with horror, shaking. Tears still slid down her cheeks, but she never took her eyes off him.  
  
"Hermione?" he said to her, "what's wrong? It's only me." She whimpered as he took a step closer, and she tried backing up some more. Draco tried to reach for her, tried to hold her, but she jerked away.  
  
"What do you want from me?" she screamed, "what do you want?"  
  
Dark blood fell from the woman's blank eyes and dripped from her pale, white lips.  
  
"Get away from me!" Hermione screamed. "What did I do? What do you want from me?"  
  
The woman's eyes empty eyes were fixed on her, and suddenly, she opened her mouth and spoke.  
  
"Salazar," she said, her voice haunting and almost whisper-like. Hermione felt a cold shiver trace up her spine, as she felt goose bumps rise on her skin. Hermione swallowed, and opened her mouth speak, but she couldn't.  
  
"Salazar," the woman said again, and Hermione noticed it was sounded almost like hissing.  
  
"I-I- I don't know Salazar," said Hermione, terrified.  
  
"Salazar," she repeated, as she came closer.  
  
"Salazar's dead," she said, so cold she was shivering and shaking much more than before. "He died ages ago."  
  
"Salazar is immortal," she said. "He can never die. He is here. I know it. I can feel it. I need Salazar."  
  
"He isn't here," Hermione said. Just then, the woman's eyes got wide, and Hermione felt a forceful blow that caused her back to push against the bookshelf painfully.  
  
"I need Salazar," she said again. "He knows you, I can sense it. You must know him. You know where he is."  
  
"I don't know where he is!" Hermione cried out. "Who are you? What do you want with him?"  
  
The woman opened her mouth to speak, but all of a sudden, she felt as if a strange, hazy mist had been wrapped around her, and the woman began to fade. She heard a voice, yelling out her name. It was Draco. She felt a hand grab her arm, as the mist encircled her. The woman had vanished.  
  
She felt someone jerk her forward, and abruptly, she was out of the cold and mist. She was breathing hard, clutching her chest, and feeling as if she had held her breath for far too long. Draco was holding her arm tightly.  
  
"Hermione? What's wrong? What happened?" he asked, concerned and fearful. Hermione shook her head, unable to speak.  
  
"I-"but she jolted away from him, yanking her arm back. She panted. "I don't know." Her cheeks were still wet, damp from her tears, but she could not cry, no matter how hard her heart seemed to be getting smashed and ruined, her body weak and sore. Her mind was stinging with shots of pain that surged through her body. Draco looked at her in disbelief that soon turned into anger and frustration.  
  
"Damn it, Hermione," he yelled. "Just tell me, all I'm trying to do is protect you!" Hermione felt something snap inside of her, like an overstretched bind. She felt hot, bubbling anger rise in her.  
  
"You're trying to protect me?" she said to him, angrily. "Did you feel it was just about time to see how I was doing in here, to see if I haven't broken your promise yet? You want to know what happened? You weren't here. You weren't here, Draco. And I know that was on purpose. And, maybe if you came then you would know. Maybe then you would be able to protect me." Draco felt his fury take over.  
  
"So this is my fault? It's my fault that you opened the bloody book? It's my fault you're screaming at me because I wasn't here when you wanted me to be?" he yelled. "It doesn't work that way. It just doesn't, Hermione! I told you I wasn't going to be in here all the bloody time. I thought you understood."  
  
"Understood what? That you would treat me like an actual human being one minute, then act as if I was invisible the next? Just what did you think I understood, that you were allowed to treat me that way and so differently when we're alone?  
  
"You're right. It doesn't work that way," she said to him.  
  
"Would you bloody listen to me, Hermione?" he shouted. "We never had an agreement. We never put down any rules. I never said we were friends, I never said I was going to treat you differently just because I showed you this damn library. I never said I wanted anything from you. I never said I needed you to need me, to be my friend. I don't need it. I don't need any friends. I don't need you." He sighed sharply.  
  
"Just because I showed you this library, it doesn't mean anything's changed. Nothing's changed. You're...you're still...."  
  
"A mudblood," she finished off, her voice breaking and shaky. Her eyes were becoming glossy again, tears sliding down her cheeks, her hands clenched into tight fists. Draco looked at her, feeling his heart break inside for saying those words.... But they were true. He had never said they were friends. He had never said anything was to change between them after.  
  
Deep down, regret and guilt was cutting through him painfully. He knew it was a mistake. His words. It was all a lie. But right now it felt right. The right kind of lie. Even though it was all wrong. He felt as if it was far too hard for him to swallow, as he looked at her, trembling, pale and crying silently. He wanted to take it back, all of it. But as he opened his mouth to say something else, he closed it. He couldn't take any of it back. He couldn't. Not when it all had been said. He knew his words were too painful to take back, too painful and hurtful to ever fade away or forget.  
  
Hermione was looking down at her feet, her vision blurry and hot tears raining down to the floor. The silence was deafening, but his voice still rang in her ears, his words destroying everything inside of her. She had been wrong. About him, about everything. She should've known. If only she believed herself when the assumption was all too expected to vanish or fade.  
  
"I'm sorry," she suddenly said, her voice quiet and sad. Draco heard the splitting of his heart loudly in his ears. She looked up at him, her dark eyes so pained and hurt more than he had ever seen before. It made him forget about breathing, his lungs hot and stinging.  
  
"I'm sorry that I fell for it. I'm sorry that...I thought things had really changed. I thought I knew better to believe it, but you...you played quite an act," she paused. "Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin," she said, and that stung Draco deep inside. He looked at her with hurt eyes, pleading, but she ignored it. It seemed as if she was too hurt to notice that he was hurt too, that he had also been convinced.... But she was too numb to feel any sympathy for him. He had hurt her. He had been the one to say those words. She looked away, as more tears chased down her cheeks, before she looked back at him again.  
  
"I really thought things had changed," she said, her voice broken, shaking. He looked at her, speechless, feeling as if time had stopped brutally, making him see how much hurt he had bestowed upon her. So much hurt, he knew, that it hurt him too. As much as she was hurting. He stepped closer to her, but froze. He wanted to reach out and hold her in his arms, and tell her that he didn't mean it. He did need her, and he needed her to need him too. He wanted to be around her, needed to see her each and every day to feel as if he was truly alive and living.  
  
He had ruined it. Ruined everything, smashed it into pieces to make sure that nothing was repairable or could be put back together again.  
  
Just when he thought that he was so close to feeling happy or content in his life, closer to finding that missing piece to fill that void inside of him than he had ever been.. He had to lose it all. He had swiped all the puzzle pieces off the table and burned it until it was nothing but charred powder.  
  
And suddenly, without another word, she left. She walked away, leaving him to stare after her, disappearing in the dark and behind the bookcase. The air seemed to become bitter cold around him, feeling as if everything he needed, everything he could possibly want, that had been right before his eyes...had disappeared. He had let her walk away. He had told her to walk away, told her that he never wanted...any of it. Any of it at all. He didn't tell her that he missed her so terribly that he could no longer keep from being with her here. He had told her that he couldn't possibly miss her.  
  
He had told her everything that he would never mean in his life.  
  
She was gone.  
  
And he felt as if the very life in him was gone also.


	10. Remorse

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: don't own the characters except the woman in black, and the plot.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo  
I've gotten some reviews telling me to let them kiss already....  
  
But, that's not going to happen. Yet. I have my own reasons, and so that when it finally comes, you guys will probably be on the edge of your seats, and it'll be much more sweeter that I wait to write 'the kiss.' But they will kiss, I will tell you that right now. I have some clue to when I'll finally be able to let them lock lips, but nothing is sure as of yet.  
  
The last chapter was rather heart wrenching, and sad. But you have to understand that Draco has never felt this way before, that he has never felt needed by anyone, and Hermione gave away the hint that she needed him... Very much. He's not used to feeling this way about a girl, Hermione especially, and he's confused. He doesn't know what Hermione wants from him, or what she feels for him. Even his own feelings for her aren't clear to him; as you have noticed, he hasn't admitted that he's in love with her yet. But I don't think Hermione has yet, either. Has she? I don't think so. But I think you should all know that they're both very much in love with each other..  
  
Love hurts. I'm sure we'll all experience or prove that to be right along the way. Draco and Hermione will be sure to know.. Sooner or later.  
  
Thanks to all the reviewers, and I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please do not forget to review.  
  
-tearsofher  
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Chapter Eleven: Remorse  
  
Draco leaned against the bookshelf as the room became terribly cold again, deafening silence filling the room. His back was pressed firmly against it, as he began to slide down, until he was sitting on the floor. He sighed shakily, as he closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. Her voice still rang in his ears, her pained, hurt eyes and tear-streaked face still engraved in his memory. Her dark brown eyes....  
  
Betrayal. Hurt. Pain. Regret, that she ever followed him here when he told her he needed to show her something. This, this place. He knew it would be perfect for her. He knew that she would love it, as he did himself.  
  
Inside, strange, toxic and tart fluids were being mixed inside his stomach, his lungs closing up as he tried to take in deep breaths. His cold hands were trembling, his knees and limbs feeling weaker than ever before. His heart was pounding painfully hard in his chest, as if going to detonate any minute now and leave him in shreds and pieces. His veins inside his flesh seemed to be throbbing, the blood running through them seeming icy and sharp. His skin felt tight, as if he was too overgrown to be wearing it. His thoughts were swirling and shouting, clawing at his heart, voices trying to make him comprehend just what he had done, just what he had lost.  
  
But he did know. He knew exactly what he had lost, what he had driven away. And he knew perfectly well that he hadn't intended her to walk away hurt, or intended to say those words. He was frustrated. But even that could not be blamed for his reckless and stinging words. It was his fault. Not hers; none of it was hers. If he hadn't been avoiding her because he was terrified, none of this wouldn't have happened. She wouldn't have been hurt by that bloody book, or him. She wouldn't have left crying, and he wouldn't be feeling more broken and ripped apart than he had ever been in his life. He felt as if the hands that had torn him, splintered his bones and poisoned his blood and lungs, were the most ruthless and cruel. But he knew. He knew.  
  
It was him. His own hands. His own ruthless, merciless and wicked hands.  
  
He had done it.  
  
Hermione ran through the corridors, tears still falling from her eyes. Her vision was blurred, her face and hands sticky and wet. Her sneakers pounded against the shiny floor, the sound of her stifled sobs echoing. She tried to hold it in, just until she was inside their dormitory, but it felt as if her lungs were going to burst any minute now. She continued running, raising her hands to wipe her tears away hastily once in a while. Her mind was on getting as far away from the library, from him, as she could. And on being alone, and letting it all out. That was all she wanted right now. To release the tight bind on her heart and chained lungs. She had a strong feeling that she wasn't going to be able to hold it in for very long.  
  
She ascended up the stairs, running, until she ran up her way to the Fat Lady. She quickly said the password, and bolted inside as the portrait door opened. She ran up to the girls' dormitories, grateful that there was no one there yet.  
  
As soon as the door shut behind her, she had to force her knees upright to keep from falling to the floor to cry. She walked over to her bed, and sat, letting it all out. The pain, his words, those visions, his dark gaze. Her heart was already broken, she knew, but every time she heard his voice ringing in her ears again, or his face and silver eyes in her mind, she could feel it breaking all over again. She had never felt this before. A broken heart. She had never thought, in her life, that Draco Malfoy could even break her heart. But he did. Because she let him in, she let him wrap his cold hands around her heart and strangle it, suffocate it and break it. She thought he had changed enough to see beneath what everyone looked at in her. She thought that he had changed enough to care about her, to want to be her friend. To even have a chance at feeling for her what she already felt for him so strongly.  
  
She knew it. She had known it, days ago. She just refused to believe it. Because it almost made her sick to admit it, made her sick to actually tell herself that it was true. But it was.  
  
She was in love with Draco Malfoy.  
  
And that day, when she knew, laying down at night in her bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking of him...she couldn't breathe. She didn't want to believe it; it wasn't possible. Well, it hadn't been. It hadn't been possible until she made it possible, until she let herself fall for him.  
  
It was her downfall. She knew it. That day she realized it, she felt a deep sadness and guilt inside her, even anger and frustration. Something seemed to have swelled up in her throat, that made it hard for her to speak, but the fact that it was so true was overwhelming. She was in love with Draco Malfoy. She was in love with the boy who only cared about blood and wealth, who would never see her for what she truly was. For who she truly was. It hurt her, further more than she would've liked. It wasn't normal. Her and him. She was in Gryffindor, and he was in Slytherin. It just wasn't right.  
  
She sobbed harder, tears dripping from her hands, slipping through her fingers. She felt weak, limp and useless, dumb. The cold air surrounded her, compressing against her skin, her heart pounding with no mercy. She knew it was foolish; she was being foolish. An idiot. She told herself to stop, that he wasn't worth any of this, but it made no difference. Her heart did not listen, and her heart's voice was the loudest right at this moment, screaming and shouting at her. She could not quite hear what it was saying, but she knew, nevertheless. She didn't need to hear it.  
  
Her heart told her that he hadn't meant it, which infuriated her even more. He had meant it. She knew it, heard it, saw it in his eyes. If he hadn't meant it, he would've apologized or taken it back. He would've gone after her. He wouldn't have let her walk away. But he did. He'd meant it, all those things he had said; he'd let her walk away.  
  
It was all a game. He had never intended to be nice to her because he wanted to be, he had never intended on treating her like an actual human being because he wanted to. It was just a game, and she was just the fool. She had let him play with her, her feelings, her heart. And now, what was even worse was that she could not take it back. He had taken her heart, and now she was missing without it. She wanted it back, needed it back, but she knew she couldn't take it back. It was in his hands. He just didn't know it. He just didn't know what he had done to her.  
  
She blamed herself. For not listening, for not paying attention to her conscience. It ate her up, in the end. It was far too much to bear.  
  
She was still a mudblood, was what he said. Well, he hadn't completely said it, but he didn't need to. She knew; she had finished his sentence for him. She didn't think that word had or would ever hurt her more in her life. It was typical, but she hadn't seen it coming. She was blinded, blinded by her thoughts convincing her that he was different, blinded by his silver, dark eyes that seemed honest at times she was around him.  
  
And maybe he had been honest. Maybe he had started to see something in her. But it wasn't enough. It was all gone now. It just wasn't enough.  
  
Just then, she heard voices coming up the stairs and footsteps coming closer to the door. She quickly wiped her eyes and slid down under the covers, making sure to hide her face. She heard the footsteps become louder, and finally she heard the door open. She heard them enter the room, the noises muffled from inside the cover. She heard them talking and laughing, but quiet down once they passed her. She could tell they were wondering about her, since she had never slept this early, but they didn't utter a word about it, or her.  
  
Her heart was thundering in her chest, her throat dry and her face still hot and sticky from her tears. She was almost positive that with how silent the room was, with the exception of their footsteps on the carpeted floor, that they could hear her pounding heartbeats. But they said not a word. They just carried on with their business, whispering as they passed her bed and headed to the bathroom. Hermione sighed quietly, as she turned the other way, to the direction of Lavender's bed, which was right beside hers. Her bed was empty, neat and still made. She could see Lavender's books neatly piled on her table, pictures of waving family members, smiling. Hermione felt her eyelids become heavy, as she started to yawn. She swiped her fingers across her cheeks and underneath her eyes, making sure there were no sign or trace of the moisture from her tears. The last thing she needed was endless pestering and questions from her dorm mates, with no sign of letting up and minding their own business. Hermione usually kept everything to herself, or shared with Harry or Ron, but this was a matter that should not be spoken of to anyone. It just wasn't necessary. She didn't need to talk about it. Thinking about it was enough to drive her over the edge to tears, how would talking about it affect her? No one would understand. They didn't feel what she felt, they hadn't seen the change, seen that flicker of something unexplainable but warm in his eyes when he looked at her. They just couldn't understand.  
  
Hermione slowly closed her eyes, and feeling her tense and stiff body relax against the sheets. The sheets were cold; for she had taken off the warming spells that were supposed to keep them warm and heated all day. She decided the cold wasn't so bad. When she was as painfully numb as this, it didn't really matter. She felt herself slowly slipping away, the tiredness lulling her into a deep slumber.  
  
But the coldness of the sheets stayed wrapped around her. It reminded her of a once cold, harsh, silver gaze that somehow softened and sparkled, as if the sun or something had reached deep inside him and melted all the frost and ice away.  
  
But she noticed that as she started floating into dreamland, the cold seemed to turn bitter and icy, stinging her skin and making her bones tremble. She suddenly felt roaring in her ears, but as she was jolted awake, she wasn't where she thought she was anymore. She wasn't in the dormitory. She didn't know where she was, but she could feel the bone shattering chill, and harsh wind, and the bellowing in her ears that made her grind her teeth. She recognized it. She had felt this before; it was all so familiar.  
  
Then she remembered, and she felt her heart stop. She held herself and shut her eyes tightly, telling herself to wake up, that this wasn't real. But as she opened her eyes once again, she was still here. She felt fear and panic rise in her, rapidly and immensely. She wanted to wake up, needed to wake up. She couldn't be here. She couldn't be here again. She wrapped her arms around tightly, holding herself as if trying to shield from the freezing air. Then, she started hearing whispers, the whispers that were already all too recognizable. She felt as if her lungs had frozen up completely into a block of solid ice. Her heart was hammering in her chest, looking around frantically, looking for a way out. But there was none. She was surrounded by gray stonewalls. They were plain, but worn from age. She looked down, and she was barefoot, the firm ground underneath the soles of her feet icy and hard. Just then she felt a breeze, and she looked up. Her breath ceased in her throat, frightened.  
  
She had come again. It was her. Hermione stared at her, wide-eyed. She felt her fingers pressing down hard into her flesh.  
  
"I recognize you," she said to her, her voice translucent but terrifying and haunting. Dark droplets of blood still slid down her cheeks, running down her chin from her mouth. She was pale, so pale she was the color of fresh snow. A small snake still slithered and hissed from her neck, its ruby eyes glimmering. Hermione did not answer, afraid to speak.  
  
"I recognize the pain...the tears...the breaking of the core and heart. I understand. I know what it is that he did to you."  
  
Hermione backed away, still scared stiff. The woman just watched her, until Hermione felt herself back into a wall once again. She felt the wall chill through her shirt, and beyond her skin. She was trembling now.  
  
"There's no use running, child," she said. "Cowards are murdered, slayed and destroyed. You've seen too much to run away. You know how it is to feel pain."  
  
"Please," Hermione said, her voice hoarse. "Please let me go." The woman approached her, walking slowly, almost as if she was gliding. She was only inches from her, and Hermione felt her heart begin to fill with something intoxicating and cold, almost strangling it of life. The woman raised her hand, and Hermione pressed to go back, but the wall did not budge. She touched her cheek, her fingers icy. Hermione was frozen, afraid to move.  
  
"What do you want from me?" she whimpered. The woman smiled.  
  
"Revenge," she whispered, and before Hermione could open her mouth to reply, a bitter, stinging, crackling and piercing commotion shot through her. Through her veins, through her fingers, through her skin. It coursed through her harshly, roughly, and she was stunned and numb from the sensation. But once it died down, another started and it was much more painful. She cried out, sliding down to her knees, holding herself so tightly that she could feel her fingers penetrating through her skin, into her flesh. Her vision became hazy and blurred, and the dark figure before her suddenly faded. As she kneeled over, crying out from raw and intense pain, she felt some warm liquid dripping down her arms. She could feel tears streaming down her cheeks, a splitting and slicing dagger ripping through her, from inside out. She tried to raise her head, and open her eyes, as she could hear whispers once again and screaming besides her own, but just as she gathered up enough strength....  
  
She felt a numbness fill and spread through her, energy and life drained from her small body. She felt weak, limp...dead.  
  
Everything went black. 


	11. When Morning Comes

Breaking Storm  
  
Disclaimer: don't own any of the characters except the Woman in Black, and the plot.  
  
Thanks to my awesome beta-reader, Tiffany.  
  
And also thanks to all the reviewers who have loyally continued to read this story and reviewed. Thanks very, very much. I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
  
-tearsofher  
  
Chapter Twelve: When Morning Comes  
  
oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_"When morning comes,  
  
and the pain is still too new,  
  
you can't face the sunlight  
  
pouring from your windowsill.  
  
Because even the sun's beams seem to know  
  
You're the one at fault."  
_ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hermione woke up, gasping for breath, and clutching her chest tightly. Her heart was pounding, as if trying to leap out of her. She cried out, from the pain in her arms and stomach, the chill in her lungs. She was covered with sweat, her curls sticking to the sides of her face and forehead. Her vision was hazy and blurred, but as it started constructing, she recognized the faces in front of her.  
  
Lavender, Ginny, and her other dorm mates were sitting beside and in front of her, worried and on the edge of panicking. Hermione let out a big breath, trying to get her lungs to function again, as Lavender spoke.  
  
"Hermione... What happened?" she asked, concern in her eyes. Hermione could feel her fingers throbbing, her chest as if to explode, her legs numb and buzzing.  
  
"Just a bad dream," she said, her voice shaky and wavering tremendously. The other girls let out a sigh of relief, as they all smiled, alarm fading from their faces. Lavender nodded, but didn't seem convinced.  
  
"Are you sure? You were screaming, and thrashing about... it seemed... I've never seen a bad dream do that to a person before. It was... It seemed like you were really in pain." Hermione tried to smile reassuringly at Lavender, but even her smile was trembling.  
  
"I'm fine," she said, and Lavender just looked at her, silent. Suddenly, she heard a gasp.  
  
"Hermione! Your arms!" she heard Ginny say, and instantly everyone's gaze was directed to her arms. Hermione stared at it in horror, as did everyone else. Blood was dripping from her both of her arms, sliding down to her palms and wrists. Hermione could see the wounds which her fingers had dug into. She felt something frigid wash over her, as if in a shocked state. It had been real. She knew it was real, but...it was just a dream. It couldn't have...it couldn't have been possible. It was just a bad dream. A horrible dream. But not something that could do this. Everyone stared at her, as she slowly stood up, blood still running down across her forearms and dripping from her fingers.  
  
"I guess...I guess it must've happened during my bad dream," she said quietly, so unsure and scared she knew everyone heard it too. "I was holding myself too tightly." She looked up at them, as they were still shocked and worried.  
  
"I'm fine," she said to them, "I'm just going to go wash up in the bathroom. It's just a minor wound," and she hurried off to the bathrooms. Lavender stared after her, as the room fell deadly silent as the door closed. Everyone was still, their eyes still on the door. Finally, Ginny and Pavarti got up and headed to their beds.  
  
"How odd," Pavarti said, as she climbed into her bed. "Have you ever seen that happen to someone before just because of a bad dream?"  
  
"Never in my life," Ginny agreed, and there were some agreements around the room as they all stood up, one by one. Pavarti eyed Lavender, who was the only one who hadn't gone to her bed yet.  
  
"What's wrong, Lavender? I know it's strange, and she might as well be lying for all we know, but Hermione's always been peculiar. You shouldn't worry too much or get worked up about it. I'm sure it'll all clear up soon. Besides," Pavarti grinned. "She's got the famous Harry Potter, doesn't she? I'm sure he can save her from whatever it is." There were some giggles and snickers the girls, as it had been a common rumor that there had been some sparks between them. Lavender shook her head, as she got up.  
  
"Don't be silly," she said, "you know there's absolutely nothing going on between Hermione and Harry. They're just friends." Lavender sat on her bed, and lay down, staring at the ceiling. It was still quite dark, and the room was gloomy. The moon was still visible outside, though only faintly. There was silence, before she heard Pavarti's voice again; there was a wide smile in her voice.  
  
"Ah, that's only what they tell us. What they tell us isn't always the truth." The girls erupted into giggles around the room, while Lavender only smiled. But as the giggles and laughs faded into silence, and soft breaths filled the room, Lavender stayed awake. There was an odd and nagging feeling inside of her that told her that there was something strange going on with Hermione. That what she had hadn't just been a mere nightmare. After all, who woke up from their bad dream with blood running down their arms?  
  
It wasn't common, even in the Wizarding world.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo  
  
Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, the light white and blinding. She was covered with sweat and tears, the blood from her arms dripping to the sink top. She sighed unsteadily, before she turned on the faucet and dipped her hands underneath the running water. She cupped some water in one of her hands and poured it down one of her arms, accompanying the dark blood. Slowly she raised her hand on her arm and washed the blood away, swirling into the sink then going down the drain. Her wounds stung, just as she clearly saw the five crescent moon shaped wounds she had gotten. She sighed again, as she did her other arm. She was still shaking, terrified and so uncertain about what had happened. She closed her eyes, the noise of the running water sounding distinct to her ears. She could still hear her. Her haunting replies, and whispers. She said that she had known what she was feeling, her pain. But how? How could she know? But then her other answer had come echoing in her ears once again. "Revenge," it whispered, and her eyes bolted open. She was met with her own reflection in the mirror, scared, horrified, pale and trembling. She turned off the sink, as the running water rapidly shut off. She sighed again, feeling the ache of her body and limbs. She felt as if she had literally been tried and tried to being torn apart. As if her body, her arms, her legs, her neck, had all been pulled in the opposite direction. Even the cold and light in the bathroom brought her pain and made her weak. Silently, she turned away from the mirror and grabbed a towel, the soft cloth held in her palms and fingers.  
  
She went over to the bathtub and turned on the water and bubbles; choosing vanilla, knowing how much that scent had always managed to soothe and calm her down all those times before. As she let the tub fill, she slowly stripped off her clothes, the air seeming cool but bitter against her bare skin. She turned off the valve as it was almost up to the neck, white and sweet smelling bubbles almost beckoning for her to come in. She went in, and let out a satisfied sigh as she felt the warmth of the water splash against her skin, the scent filling her nose and relaxing her senses. At least, almost all of her senses. She sunk in, until it was up to her chin, closing her eyes, trying to clear her mind. Only, erasing those visions was too hard to manage. But trying to erase his piercing and enthralling gaze from her memory and mind was harder. It seemed impossible. She could feel frustration and anger rise in her.  
  
How was it that she could not seem to escape him, wherever she went? Even in her dreams, even when she was completely alone. He was there. His silver gaze was still penetrating through her, reading her, haunting her. She wanted it to go away. To vanish, to disappear. But no matter how hard she forced her eyes shut and tried to make it wane or fade away, it was still there, unmoving, unwavering. Still as strong as ever. She felt her hands clench into fists underneath the water.  
  
She hated him. He wasn't supposed to be on her mind, he didn't deserve to be. He was the one who had hurt her; he was the one who had said those words. So then why was it that she was stuck with these painful memories, visions? It wasn't fair that her heart was missing and gone, because now he held it in his hands. It wasn't fair now that she could not take it back, without him knowing her affection for him.  
  
He had broken her heart; hurt her deeply, without even knowing it.  
  
How was she going to explain that? She wasn't. She wasn't going to look at him, wasn't going to speak to him. She would pretend nothing had happened. He hadn't really hurt her. He hadn't really driven her to tears. He hadn't really laughed and talked with her those days.  
  
He was a pureblood Slytherin, and she was the Gryffindor Mudblood. How simple could it get? Nothing had changed. Nothing ever would.  
  
Slowly, she dipped her head under the water, holding her breath and sinking to the very bottom. She could only see darkness inside her closed lids, but she could feel the water's slow but powerful motion around her, swaying her gently. She could feel the hard and firm bottom of the tub, as she willed herself to sink lower and lower, until she was no longer capable to raise her head up above the water. She wanted to be washed away, washed away from the cruel reality, washed away from the boy who had broken her heart and his deep silver gaze, washed away from her hurt and pain. She had no urge to raise and breathe in air to satisfy her screaming, aching lungs. She wanted to stay at the bottom, where the sound seemed to be muffled, and no one could find her. Slowly, she felt herself slipping away, the water carrying her body and wrapping itself around her, not willing to let go. She could hear it, the water's song, its whispers. She could hear what they were saying softly to her, as her heartbeats slowed and faded away distinctively. Pictures and visions flickered in her mind; pictures of Harry and Ron, laughing with the sunlight glowing behind them. Pictures of the Gryffindor girls giggling and chatting about boys and make- up. Pictures of Draco and his smirk that made her heart stop. His silver gaze, his smile, the twinkle in his eyes when he laughed. His voice, the feeling of his hand wrapped tightly around hers. The way he had held her to him, and felt as if he was not willing to ever let go either. The way he had whispered her name, and made a sacred, radiant light fill her soul like never before. The look of sadness in his cloudy and dark eyes. It all came back to her, swirling and trapping her in.  
  
Just then she felt a burst of pain erupt in her, internally. Her heart was throbbing, pounding. Something crackled and buzzed through her fingers and feet, her skin feeling warm but translucent. She heard his voice. Calling her name, whispering to recall her promise to him. And suddenly, she felt his arms around her again. She heard his heart beat rapidly against hers, his fingers caressing her back. His smell invaded her senses, strong and entrancing. She felt his warmth around her, the feel of his hair tickling her cheek.  
  
Hermione bolted up above the water, as she gasped for breath. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her lungs thirsting intensely. She took in vast amounts of air, as water dripped down her face. But she still felt a deep, agonizing pain in her lungs and stomach, as she doubled over. She covered her face with her hands, and she noticed that now, more water was spilling out, sliding down her wet face. In her mouth, a salty and bittersweet taste seemed to fill and intrude.  
  
She watched, as a teardrop fell and splashed into the pool of white bubbles below. She thought she had been all cried out. She was wrong.  
  
Draco watched silently as people entered the Great Hall, laughing and talking happily. His silver gaze was dark, intact and sharp.  
  
She hadn't come in yet.  
  
He waited, not touching his plate or cup, as the tables began to fill. He heard their noisy conversations and hearty laughter, but paid no attention. Everything seemed blurred, the sounds around him muffled, but he didn't care. He was waiting for her.  
  
His heart ached and lurched, closing his eyes and thinking about what he had done. Her sad, glossy and hurt eyes still engraved in his memory, denying him of any sleep or rest. All night, he had been up, thinking about her, and his words. And the impact they had had on her. There was no escaping her, he knew, no matter how hard he tried to hate her and make her haunting eyes vanish from his memory. He couldn't. Every time he saw them, his heart would thrash about, screaming and shrieking, his conscience tugging and tearing him to pieces. Her eyes would burn him, his flesh, his gaze, his heart. It was powerful and strong, and left him in charred pieces, but he welcomed it. The fire she sent, the warmth, was all he needed. It left him feeling hazy and wanted, left him wanting more. More of her.  
  
There were times, that night, when the moonlight still penetrated through the heavy curtains, when he wondered if she was having a hard time getting that visit from the sandman too. But he mentally slapped himself and shook that thought away. He felt as if he didn't even deserve to think of her, to wonder what she was doing, thinking, feeling. He didn't deserve any sleep. He didn't deserve to be haunted by her; she was too pure, too beautiful. She would never be like him. She was so different, so much better.  
  
She deserved to be treated so much better. He knew that, right from the beginning. She was different from all of them, every single one. She was better, smart, kind and understanding. She had the eyes to bore and pierce through anyone, even the coldest heart. And he had the evidence to prove it to be true.  
  
It was him. He was the proof.  
  
His words stung even him, making him cringe and swear under his breath. She didn't deserve such treatment, although it was true. He had been so cruel, so wicked and heartless.  
  
And maybe he was. Maybe he hadn't changed; maybe he was still that same coldhearted monster. But that was almost impossible. When they had spent all that time in the library together... Something had shifted inside him. Something had changed, because of her. He was not the same person. He couldn't be. She had changed him, filled that void he had had for most of his life. She made him different. She made him feel everything he hadn't felt before, everything he hadn't had a chance to feel before. She made him feel... For her. And that was enough. That was enough to tear him apart when he uttered those words to her, when he saw that look in her eyes.  
  
But just then, someone walked in the Great Hall. Someone with wavy long, brown hair that was just too familiar. He lifted his gaze up immediately, and what he saw made his heart lurch. It was her. She walked to the Gryffindor table, and sat by her two friends; Potter and redhead Weasley. His gaze was locked on her, watching her every move, feeling his heart call out to her. But she never looked up. She kept her gaze down, her curls falling, covering her face, and it made him just want to reach out and tuck it behind her ear. But he couldn't. Even if he tried, she was still out of his reach. And it hurt to know that she was always going to be out of his reach.  
  
He watched as Harry looked at her and smiled, and she gave him a weak smile in return, then turned away and took a sip of her pumpkin juice. That was when he had his first clear look at her face.  
  
She was deathly pale, her eyes brimmed with red. He felt guilt rip through him, regret swelling up and making it hard for him to swallow. He could see her delicate and small hands, her long, slender fingers curled around her cup. Her eyes were dark; almost so dark they were no longer the shade of brown he had grown to love. She did not look at him, and he felt disappointment spread through him.  
  
He deserved this. He really did. But then why was it that he was getting so angry that she was avoiding him, not looking his way? Why was it that he wanted to stride over to her and hold her again?  
  
He knew why. He had always known, somehow, someway. He had only realized it nights ago, thinking about her and the way her smile seemed to fill him with something unexplainable but pleasant. It just hit him, and suddenly he knew the answers to all his questions.  
  
She was it. She was the answer.  
  
Harry looked worriedly over at the girl beside him, who seemed to be just playing with her food weakly. Her eyes were dim and cloudy, her face pale; paler than he had ever seen. Something was wrong. She was too quiet, and something about her just screamed that something strange was happening.  
  
"Hermione?" Harry asked. She halted playing with her food slowly, as she looked up at him.  
  
"What is it, Harry?" she asked softly, concern spreading across her features. "Is there something wrong?"  
  
"I'm fine, but I'm worried..." Hermione looked at him, puzzled.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"You." Hermione stared into his emerald eyes, before giving him that same weak and empty smile that she used to cover up her emotions. She looked down, and started sliding her food across her plate with her fork again.  
  
"You shouldn't be worrying about me, Harry," she said. "You worry too much for your own good sometimes." She sighed, and looked up at him. "I'm fine, really. I just...hadn't had much sleep, that's all. I had...a bad dream," she smiled faintly. "A bad dream. That's it."  
  
"That doesn't convince me, Hermione," he said.  
  
"You just have to trust me, Harry," she said, "have I ever lied to you?" Hermione felt guilt mount inside of her. It never felt right lying to Harry, especially when it came to this, but she just couldn't tell him. She couldn't tell anyone at all. It was for the best. Things were already too complicated, and she didn't want anyone worrying about her. It only made things worse, and she couldn't afford that. Not now, not when all this was happening.  
  
"No," he replied. "I guess you haven't," he said softly. She smiled.  
  
"And I would only lie to you if...if it was for the best, you know that." Harry's gaze flickered up to hers, suspicious.  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked. Hermione sighed inaudibly.  
  
"I mean...you just have to trust me. There are some things you're better off without knowing."  
  
"Hermione, I--"he stopped, as he thought it over and closed his mouth again. "I understand," he said. "It's-- we're, well, I'm not going to pressure you into telling us if you don't want to." Hermione smiled at him, grateful.  
  
"But," he said, "I'm trusting you on this, Hermione. If it's something really important and we need to know but you don't tell us...I.... Just know that I'm going to listen anytime you need me to."  
  
"Thanks, Harry," she said. "I knew you would understand." Harry looked at her uncertainly, but covered it up with a grin as she looked up.  
  
"Anytime, Hermione. Anytime."


End file.
